


Autumn's Thief

by FairweatherEden



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Art Crime, Bottom Castiel, Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester, Bottom Dean, Cop!Dean, Crimes & Criminals, Destiel - Freeform, F/F, F/M, FBI, Forgery, Harvelle's Roadhouse, M/M, New York City, PhDStudent!Cas, Pie, Switch Castiel, Switch Dean, Top Castiel, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Top Dean Winchester, destiel au, detective!dean, i'll add tags as i go, nypd, runner!cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-05-15 08:29:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 38,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5778727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FairweatherEden/pseuds/FairweatherEden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Detective Dean Winchester of the NYPD Art Crime's Division does his best to outrun his father's sullied shadow. PhD Student Castiel Novak wants to leave the past where it can never be found again. What happens when they cross paths and things start to muddle?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massive thanks to jentothepen for the on-the-fly beta-ing. Love you!

It was September. The street was empty, a rare occurrence for Manhattan. The main College Walk gates were open, as they always were. He ducked into the university campus, with his collar flipped up against the wind. It wasn’t bad out, as the Summer seemed to hold on with a clenched fist. But it was night, and the leaves rustled in the cool, Autumn air.

There was no one around, though it did not keep him from glancing around as he walked passed the Alma Mater statue. The owl hidden between the stone folds her robe was the only witness.

Castiel Novak liked the feeling of New York at night, especially when it felt like there was no one else around. He exited onto Amsterdam Avenue and headed towards Morningside Park. There was a subway stop closer to his brownstone, but he liked the walk, no matter the hour. Regardless of the neighbourhood, he always felt safe in the city.

He entered the park, passing more stone images of people forgotten by time. The winding walkways led him through the dimly lit urban forest. His headphones piped soft music into his ears, but he really wasn’t listening. Instead, he was taken by thoughts of the day.

Nothing spectacular happened, as Castiel preferred a quiet life. He stepped back from whatever limelight would rear its head in his direction.

His musings were interrupted by laughter. A couple walked passed as he exited onto 117th Street and Morningside Avenue. It was Friday, and he expected company. Billie’s Black and Minton’s Playhouse, not to mention a bevy of other beloved establishments, weren’t too far from his, and the night owls were about.

As he got closer to home, more people passed. There was more laughter, shouting, and midnight revelry. Cas just kept walking.

Crossing 7th Avenue, he was in sight of home. It was an unassuming brownstone that had been in his family before he was born. With space at a premium, and rents quite high, Cas still chose to live alone.

He pulled out his keys, the metal fob glinting off the nearby streetlights. The door opened with a bit of a shove. He kept meaning to fix it, but hadn’t as of yet. He turned around, and locked the door behind him, before stepping any further into the brownstone.

Cas then flicked the hallway light on and picked up his mail. The house was empty. Not only devoid of people, but of things as well. The only immediate sign of habitation were the letters he placed on the entryway sideboard.

He hung his coat and bag up on the nearby hook. Cas kicked of his battered Chucks, and walked upstairs. He took each step slowly, his body aching from the day. Cas turned off the light and took the stairs in darkness.

His bedroom was on the top floor of the building. The brownstone has 5 bedrooms, and other than the one he inhabited, the master bath and kitchen were the only real vestiges of life in the well-preserved home.

He opened the door, and the dim moonlight shone through the large front windows. Before turning on any light, Cas turned on a nearby speaker dock and plugged in his iPod. The music he ignored before filled his room. Unlike the rest of the house, it was filled with life and personal treasures.

The large bed was unmade, exactly how he left it this morning. A large leather chair was sat next to the window, a perfect perch for people watching the world below. A dresser and rolling rack held his small number of clothes. He only had enough to fit into a small suitcase, but their quality afforded their placement in his wardrobe.

A laptop sat by his bedside, as did a small pile of books on New York City history; it was his only true passion in life.

The only decoration in the room was a large piece of art on the opposite wall. It’s position was always out of direct sunlight, but in full view of his bed. Most would consider it a decent print or copy, but Cas knew the truth.

It was a part of his life that he never shared and kept hidden. His past was to remain that way, but this piece he could never hide. The Klimt was too precious to him.

He undressed, hanging up his clothes from the day. His tousled dark brown hair becoming more unruly as he peeled off top layers. Cas walked pass the full length mirror without giving it a glance. He wasn’t overly muscular, but had a runner’s legs. He wasn’t slight in any real sense of the word and looked like he could handle himself in a fight, which he could.

In spite of this, he walked quite lightly, almost like a ballerina across a stage. Cas took care of himself, exercising regularly, but it was out of habit at this point. He didn’t really have much interest in his appearance and preferred to blend in with the crowd.

He turned on the light switch in the bathroom and started his nightly routine that comprised of a quick face wash and brushing his teeth. He stared in the mirror, his blue eyes staring straight back.

Cas was tired, but it was nothing that a good night’s sleep couldn’t fix. Unfortunately, for him, this night would be the last one he got for a while.

 

* * *

 

Nothing good ever happens on Mondays. It was a cliché, but most things that were tended to be true.

Dean was wedged between a man who never learned the concept of personal hygiene, and a woman who proceeded to read the paper without politely folding it. Granted, he was lucky enough to snag a seat, but the hour-long ride from Brooklyn to work in Manhattan seemed not worth it at the moment.

He also knew that transfers would make his journey to Whitehall Station faster, but he saw no point to switch from the R to just go back to it. Most people he worked with also saw no point as to why he still lived in Sunset Park, while his salary could afford him a better neighbourhood. He would just shrug and say it was home. This was enough to silence any further enquiries.

Dean Winchester grew up in Brooklyn and resided within 10 blocks of his childhood home, still occupied by his parents. Despite the ever-changing nature of the city, he found no qualms with his neighbourhood, and chose to remain.

The train arrived at Whitehall and he gladly exited the car. He heard the automated voice from the subway as he made it to the staircase.

“Please stand clear of the closing doors.”

He remembered a time before the upgrades, the shininess the city had slowly become. Tourists passed him, even at this hour of the morning. He ignore their unnecessarily loud conversation and went through the turnstile.

It was a short walk to Park Row. One Police Plaza was a ugly building in comparison the the former headquarters of the New York City Police Department at 240 Centre Street, which was now luxury apartments; everything seemed to be converted into apartments these days.

Dean turned up the collar on his pea coat against the brisk autumn wind. He stopped by the north end of City Hall Park at a breakfast cart for a bagel and coffee. As he takes a sip from his coffee, he hears someone come up behind him.

“Morning, Benny.” Dean turned around to see his partner, Benjamin LaFitte. Benny was smiling back with mouth full of cheese danish.

“One of these days, you won’t know I’m there, brutha.” He said between mouthfuls, his thick Cajun accent still audible.

“Never gonna happen. Though, if that day ever does happen, I’ll buy your breakfast. In the meantime…” Dean nodded to the vendor. Benny shook his head and held the danish in his mouth while he pulled out his wallet to pay the man. “Keep the change.”

Dean smiled and took a bite of the poppy seed bagel. “Thanks, buddy.”

Benny fell into step with his partner as they walked towards work. “You’re going to eat me out of my retirement fund at this rate.”

 

* * *

 

Dean opened the door that had a sign taped to it reading “NYPD Art Crimes Division”. They had put in a requisition years ago for a permanent sign, it was still pending. As there was no real department for art crimes in One Police Plaza, Dean and Benny were on their own in back office of the Major Case Unit of the NYPD headquarters building.

Dean and Benny shared the small office, which seemed smaller due to the piled up case files, rolling white board stuffed in the corner, and the two of them who both stood over six foot. There was one window that overlooked the building next door, but it was decorated with a colored-glass wind chime that Benny’s youngest daughter had made. Wanted posters and images of stolen art covered the walls.

Both men had seemingly fallen into their positions by accident. Benny’s mother was an artist and his father was a musician. Their house was always filled with loud sounds and bright colors. His parents wanted to make sure that he and his siblings took advantage of the city that they had made their new home. Moving to New York from Carencro, Louisiana when he was 10, he was dragged to every museum, art gallery, and cultural event the city offered over the next 8 years until he started university. His mother’s goal of cementing a love of the arts stuck, he went to the Museum School in Manhattan and then received a degree in Art History from Cooper Union. Then 9/11 happened, and Benny decided to join the NYPD. He never told anyone his reasons for the change, but he was one of the many thousands trapped in lower Manhattan that day.

On one of his first assignments as a patrolman, he called to a robbery of a gallery where he proved invaluable because of his knowledge, and met Dean.

Dean joined the NYPD in spite of his family, which were connected with some of the more unscrupulous residents of the city. His family has ties with the Irish and Italian mobs, as well as the black market, and he wanted to be more than what his father had become, spending time in bars between prison sentences. He used to escape to quiet places in the city to get away from the troubles of his family. When not in school, he read everything he could at libraries and wandered around the free and “suggested donation” museums of the city. Art was just something that was there. After hearing stories of a beat cop, now detective, who helped out with art theft and forgeries, Dean was determined for a transfer. Eventually, he was made Benny’s new partner. From there, the two made names for themselves, and were given their now cramped office.

“So, back to the Tapping case?” Benny asked pulling out his chair to sit.

“Unless something else gets stolen.” Dean replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Castiel's Brownstone: http://www.zillow.com/homes/for_sale/Harlem-Manhattan-New-York-NY/pmf,pf_pt/house,townhouse_type/31551673_zpid/195267_rid/40.814734,-73.933955,40.797063,-73.96524_rect/14_zm/1_rs/


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massive thanks to jentothepen for the on-the-fly beta-ing. Love you!

The alarm on Cas’s phone went off. He rolled over and stared at it for a minute before turning it off. It was still early. He didn't need to be anywhere for a few hours. He picked up his phone and pressed play on an app. Suddenly music started to play throughout the whole house. He slowly got out of bed and stretched.

The weekend had been quiet. Cas had spent most of it in the university library doing research. He was in his fourth year as a PhD student in the Columbia University History Department. Though he was slightly older than some of his peers, the years off in between undergraduate life and now had been spent wisely.

Cas walked over to the large bay window overlooking the street. It was light out, and the street was awake. He had been feeling a bit antsy from being cooped up all weekend. Changing from his pyjamas to a pair of shorts and a long sleeved t-shirt, Cas decided to go for a run.

He grabbed his phone and keys, tucked a bit of money into a small pocket, and headed uphill and west to Riverside Drive.

The city was in full swing by the time Cas reached the Hudson. There were a few other runners and cyclists about, but for the most part he was alone. It was a bit late, and most everyone was on their way to work by now. The cool air came off the water and provided a small breeze. Cas closed his eye briefly and breathed it in.

He loved running. It gave him a feeling that he couldn’t really describe, kind of like flying. It just made him happy, and it only required a pair of good shoes.

Cas looked up and had reached 72nd Street before he realised how far he’d gone. He turn and headed over to Amsterdam and back up to 86th. He stopped into Barney Greengrass for breakfast just as it opened and then strolled over towards Central Park to find a bench.

He sat with his bagel and a bottle of water several miles from his brownstone and ate. After Cas finished, he got up and walked north towards home. It would have been easier to grab a cab, hop on the subway, or take the bus, especially now that he had cooled down and the sweat started to give him a bit of a chill, but Cas didn’t mind. He would eventually pick up his pace and run the nearly two miles left on his journey.

Cas opened his front door. It was after 9am and he was due in his supervisor’s office in an hour. He stripped off his sweaty clothes and headed straight to the shower. Cas turned the house speakers on again, and the music was audible over the running water.

His mind began to wander as he stood under the hot water. He felt the heat on the various scars on his skin.

His grandfather always said that each one held a memory. They might not all be good, but they were all significant and helped define who you were. “Life is a series of lessons, and some are harder to learn than others.” He had been gone for several years, but his voice still reverberated in his mind. James Novak was the voice in his head.

He finished in the shower and quickly got dressed. Black was the standard New Yorker’s colour of choice. It was a comfortable shade for him, one that Cas felt like home in, yet he reached for a dark green sweater for today. Autumn was in the air, and he wanted to reflect that.

It was always his favourite time of year, no matter where he was. There was just something about these three months that always made him smile a bit more.

Cas pulled on his boots, grabbed his bag, threw on his trench coat, and headed out the door. He had a big day ahead of him.

 

* * *

 

There was nothing. The room was an empty shell of its former self. It was remarkable how much colour and artistry lights up a room. It was a blank canvas with everything removed. Dean looked around trying to spot anything that could help. Benny walked over, notepad in hand.

“The house staff heard nothing. They cleaned last night and closed the curtains, and this morning everything was gone.” Benny said plainly.

“That’s not possible.” Dean replied. “Unless they are lying and stole it themselves.” He turned to Benny. “Where are the owners?”

“Out of town. The husband is in London on business. The wife is in Paris shopping. Two kids in boarding school, and a third in college.” Benny said, checking his notes.

“The American dream.” Dean smiled.

“Yeah, just added a shit-ton of money and water.”

Dean smiled, “Do we have a list of the contents?”

“Not exactly.” Dean looked at Benny, who motioned him away from the other officers and crime scene technicians in the room.

“Some of the items were insured, and we have that. Other were a bit more…”

“Ill-gotten?” Dean said, knowing full well that this made things a bit more difficult for the two of them.

“Yeah. The butler, valet, steward, whatever he is… a Mr. Uriel Wisdom… said that some of the pieces were personal acquisitions and had been in the family for a long time. They are considered heirlooms, and are too invaluable to be categorised and labelled.” Benny said, attempting to hold back his obvious distaste for the man.

“What the heck does that mean? Just sounds like some bull that he said to try and sound pretentious. Probably thought it would confuse you, so you wouldn’t ask anymore questions.” Dean said stopping to look at the dust on an empty pedestal in the corner.

“Yeah, well, working so close to people with this kind of money probably makes him feel entitled a bit. Also, he probably thought I had a fifth-grade education, being in such a menial profession and all…” Benny said, his last words dripping in sarcasm.

“Not to mention the accent.” Dean says with a smirk.

Benny flips his partner off. “Then again, if he was talking to you, I could understand the whole stupid thing.” He smiled, his perfect teeth and bright smile nearly glinting in the sunlight shone through the windows.

“Funny.” Dean said, deadpan.

“I try.” Benny said with a shrug. “I’ll put in a request with the family lawyer. Probably have to talk to somebody in the DA’s office about the ‘precious’ pieces.”

Dean nods. “Yeah, sounds like a plan.”

 

* * *

 

Cas knocks on the wooden door labelled: Dr. Missouri Moseley - History Chair and waits. A soft Southern voice calls through the door. “Come in, Castiel.”

Cas reaches for the doorknob and pushes the door open. The room itself is quite large but littered with books and maps everywhere.

Sat at her desk, Missouri looks up and smiles warmly. In her late 50s, the African-American woman is the authority on New York City History. She’s written countless books and regularly appears on the History Channel.

Castiel takes a seat across from the woman, and starts pulling out his notebook. “So,” she says without looking up, “how’s the research going?”

“Not bad.” He acquiesces. “I’ve been searching through a lot of the older archives at the library. I’ve found some things that might be useful.”

Missouri looks up and smiles. “Good. I also wanted to discuss some TA positions with you.”

“Oh?” Cas remarks with some interest.

“Yes, there’s my survey course, as you know, but I noticed that you also have an extensive background in Art History as well.” Cas stiffens minutely, but he doesn’t say anything as Missouri continues. “

“Dr. Milton is in desperate need of some assistance in her 19th Century Art class. I thought that you might be able to assist her.” Missouri looks up at Cas for his reaction.

Cas was an Art History major until he moved to History in graduate school. It was an easy A for him, and earned him to graduate summa without really trying. It was cheap on his part, but that was before things changed.

The blue-eyed student clear his throat, “Aren’t there any students in that department available?”

Missouri set down her pen, “No, not since Dr. Morningstar decided to not accept any new graduate students this year. It won’t be that bad, Castiel. Dr. Milton is a lovely teacher, and I’m sure that you’ll enjoy the class. I already told her that you’d come see her today.” She opened the main drawer to her desk and pulled out a business card. Handing it over to Cas, she spoke, “Just go talk to her. Besides, I know you’re actually ahead on your work at the moment.”

Cas took the card and started to open his mouth to protest, but let out a sigh instead. “Okay, Dr. Moseley.”

The older woman smiled, “Good. Now, tell me how far into your draft you are.”

 

* * *

 

An hour later Cas found himself in front of a similar wooden door just a few flights up from Dr. Moseley’s office. He knocked on the door, hearing soft music float through the glass and wood barrier.

“Come in!” A soft voice called.

Dr. Anna Milton was sat in the middle of her office on the floor surrounded by various copies of prints and a few writing pads full of notes. Her red hair was tied up hastily in a bun. She looked up and smiled. “You must be Castiel Novak.”

Cas shifted his bag on his shoulder. “Yes, Dr. Moseley said—“

Anna hauled herself up from the middle of her paper nest, “Yes, Missouri is a lifesaver, and if you say yes, you’ll be one as well.”

Cas nods and looks down at the papers littering the floor. There are images of works by Manet, Goya, Cezanne, and so forth. Cas knew all of these works and more. He took a moment while Anna went to her desk to take in the whole office.

There were piles of art books everywhere and prints on the walls. He caught reproductions of various paintings that were supposedly lost during World War II. His lip quirked as his eyes flashed over one of them, Pissarro’s “The Boulevard Montmartre, Twilight”.

“Castiel,” Anna said, breaking Cas out a memory that was about to resurface. “So I took a look at your previous work and transcripts, and I think that this class will be easy enough for you. I’ve also a 20th Century Art class in the Spring that could benefit from your talents as well.”

Cas nods at the redhead, “Of course, I’m happy to help.” In truth, he wasn’t but Missouri had made it abundantly clear that he had no choice in the matter.

 

* * *

 

After getting in touch with his contact at the DA’s office, they had finally been able to get a complete list of everything that was missing. No surprise that a few of the items had already been “missing” and were on the Art Loss Register.

Dean just stared at the prints. Some of them he was familiar with, others… others he had no freaking clue. Benny was pretty good with identifying things, but even he wasn’t a fountain of knowledge in regard to everything art.

They would have to get some outside help. There were a few avenues, all of which would probably start with—

Benny interrupted Dean’s train of thought with a yawn. “Let’s pick this up tomorrow, brutha.” Dean didn’t seem too fond of this idea.

It was late when Dean finally dragged himself out of the office. Benny had practically pushed him out the door, though mostly because he wanted to get home to his family. Dean, on the other hand...

The train wasn't too crowded, Dean sat near a window and leaned his head against the glass. The tunnel lights shone through as the train passed them.

Dean couldn't be bothered to change trains and took the local R all the way home.

Sunset Park is one of the highest points in Brooklyn, and listed in the National Register of Historic places as a historic district. Once it was filled with Scandinavians, Orthodox Jewish, and Puerto Ricans, now it was largely Chinese and smelled like fish all along 8th Avenue.

Dean owned a one bedroom apartment on 42nd Street off 4th Avenue. It was a couple of blocks from his mother's house. She had adamantly refused to leave after what happened, no matter what Dean and Sam had tried to do to convince her.

Sam was Dean's younger brother by four years and lived in a nice apartment on the Upper West Side in Manhattan with his wife and their newborn son. He was an assistant district attorney for New York City. As an ADA, he's seen and done a lot. Sam also tried to right the wrongs of his father, but in a different way. Dean admired his younger brother. Heck, he practically raised the kid.

Dean can still remember the day he got a full ride to Columbia University for undergrad, then Law School there as well. Those were amongst Dean's happiest memories. As was the day Sam and Sarah got married. Sarah Blake was part of one of Dean's cases a few years back. Her family owned an auction house that was broken into, she had come in with the records of what was stolen the same day Sam had stopped by for their weekly brotherly lunch. Sam tripping all over himself wasn't one of the funniest things Dean had ever seen, but he held back his laughter (a very un-Dean-like action), and introduced them. The rest was history.

The door to his second floor apartment opened quietly. Everything was just as Dean had left it this morning. The perpetual neatness as well as minimalism was of the flat was in stark contrast to his office. Dean had very few attachments, both materialistically and people-wise. He could probably throw all of his possessions in a duffle bag and disappear. Granted, there were a few people who would notice, so it's something he wouldn't do.

He yawned and walked over to his fridge. He opened it to find it full of leftovers neatly labeled and stacked. "Mom." He said quietly. She must have come by today and refilled his refrigerator while Dean was at work.

The 34 year old shook his head and sighed. Mary always looked after him nowadays. With John in the wind, again, there was nothing much else for the retired schoolteacher to do but fawn over her children and grandchild. And since Dean was the closest, he was usually her first stop. He always thought it was her way of making up for not being around as much as she could when they were younger.

She worked two jobs to keep the house and missed out raising them, which fell to Dean no matter how much Mary hated it. Dean never held it against her, though. He knew she did what she could. She was still the best mom he could ask for.

Dean pulled out one of the containers, it held some of Mary's homemade pumpkin pie. Dean could live off pie for the rest of his life, though no one would ever allow that. He didn't bother with a plate, and just grabbed a fork. He poured himself a couple of fingers of Johnny Walker Red, and leaned back against the kitchen counter eating pie and drinking whiskey in silence.

His apartment was quiet as it always was. It's been a few years since his last relationship and he hadn't bothered with any hookups for nearly as long. He couldn't be bothered. Dating in NYC was hard, and that's even if he had the time. He resigned himself to the quiet a long time ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean's Apartment: http://streeteasy.com/building/420-42-street-brooklyn/2b
> 
> Mary's Building: http://streeteasy.com/sale/1191264


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massive thanks to jentothepen for the on-the-fly beta-ing. Love you!

Castiel sat in the TA room grading papers. He was a couple of weeks into his new schedule. Dr. Milton was more than pleased with him, and he had nearly his entire rough draft of his dissertation finished.

The door banged open and Gabriel Speight walked in sucking on a lollipop, which was the norm (both the disquieting behaviour and the candy). "Hey there, brother? How's it hanging?"

Cas didn't bother looking up from his work. "I am not your brother nor am I suspended from anything at the moment."

Gabe rolled his eyes. "Always so literal." He dragged over a nearby chair and turned it around, straddling it across the desk from where Cas sat.

"So Cassie, any plans this weekend?" Gabe asked sucking on the lollipop so loudly it was nearly obnoxious.

"No." Cas said. Gabe was a PhD in Religion, with a focus on mythology. He studied tricksters, quite fitting considering his personality.

"Awesome. That means you can come with me to The Roadhouse Friday." He said smiling.

"What makes you think that such a thing would ever be an option?" Cas said, looking up and glaring at his colleague.

"Because I may have mentioned it to Dr. Milton and Dr. Moseley how I was feel worried about your well being." Gabriel said with mock sincerity.

"You didn't." Cas said flatly. Cas could always spot a lie.

"No, I didn't, but I will." Game wasn't lying this time.

Cas sighed. This is why he didn't talk to people, but he also knew that a student's mental state was also a concern of his advisor and the last thing he needed was Missouri poking into his personal life, which meant a closer look at his records which weren't completely legitimate.

"Fine." Cas sighed resigned to his fate.

"Excellent. The Roadhouse, 8pm. Don’t be late."

"May I ask why it is so important that I accompany you?"

"There's this girl..."

 

* * *

 

The Roadhouse was a bar in Brooklyn that not many knew of, but seemed to keep a steady clientele. Ellen Harvelle had purchased the bar with her late husband, Bill. Bill and John Winchester were in similar lines of work. Ellen had never forgiven John, but she never held a grudge against either of his sons.

In fact, she had even given Mary a hand in caring for them when they were younger. Therefore her daughter Jo was like their little sister of sorts. Dean sat at a back table nursing a beer with some of his case files open in front of him. It was early for him, but Benny had dinner plans with his wife. It was their 8 year anniversary, so Dean promised his partner an early night. Well, and early night for Benny, which meant Dean would still be working.

They had been given a new case days ago after wrapping up their last one. The butler, Wisdom, did it. Not surprising, but it gave Dean the chance to make enough Clue jokes to last a lifetime. Now, though, he was working on a case involving William Blake’s A Vision of The Last Judgment. It turned up in a raid and was handed over to Dean and Benny. The piece has been missing for over 200 years. It was found with a few other 19th Century pieces that were lesser known. They were still waiting to get their hands on it to get it authenticated.

Sarah had suggested that he talk to Anna Milton, she was a friend of Sarah’s from grad school, and currently taught at Columbia University. Dean had put in a call to the professor, him and Benny had an appointment with her on Monday. Until then, Dean would just obsess over the case details. Not like he had much else to do.

“You actually going to eat this or should I just not bother?” A voice said to Dean’s left. It was Ellen holding a plate with a bacon cheeseburger nestled in a bed of sweet potato fries. Dean looked up and smiled.

“I didn’t order that.” He said clearing the paperwork.

“I know, but I also know you’ve been sat here for two hours and need something more than beer, Dean.” Ellen said placing the food on the table.

“Thanks, mom.” Dean said picking up a fry.

“Oh, I’ll call your mother if you want, then we’ll see how fresh you’re gonna be. She might even bring along Mrs. M.” Dean paled slightly. Mary shared her two family home with an older woman who scared the life out of Dean, well, in the nicest sense of the word. Who needed a dad when you essentially had three moms.

“Thanks, Ellen.” He said, backing down. She smiled and walked away.

 

* * *

 

Castiel had never been this far into Brooklyn, well that’s not entirely true, he just couldn’t remember the last time he was here. The bar was along 3rd Avenue and seemed unremarkable from the outside. Gabriel had told him of a woman, Kali, who frequented the bar. She was apparently a doctor over at Maimonides Hospital, where Gabriel’s older brother worked. He had never spoken to the woman, but overheard that she would be attending a birthday party that Friday at The Roadhouse and this was his chance. And why did he need Castiel? Because his brother had refused to play wingman. Apparently the neurosurgeon had better things to do than help out his little brother, Gabriel had moaned.

So that’s how Cas found himself walking through the wooden front door to the sounds of laughter and Johnny Cash. There weren’t that many people populating the bar, though it was a bit early in the evening. The doctors had yet to show up. There were a few barflies, some younger couples, and a man at a back table devouring a burger while surrounded by paperwork.

“Hey there.” Gabriel said, taking a seat at the bar. The women behind it, a petite blonde smiled.

“What can I getcha?” She asked to the pair.

“I’ll have a Cuba Libre and my stoic friend will have ---” Gabe clapped Cas on the back.

The blue-eyed man turned his gaze to the bartender. “Whatever local beer is on tap.”

She smiled, and leaned a bit over the bar at Cas. “We’ve a few of them.”

Cas didn’t drop his gaze to her tight shirt emblazoned with with bar’s name. “Whatever your favourite is.”

She smiled, “Coming up.”

Gabe handed her a credit card, “Keep it open.” She smiled and started their order. Once the girl had walked away Gabe leaned over to Cas, “She’s cute.”

Cas studied the bottles behind the bar, “Not interested.”

“Are you gay?” Gabe asked with no pretense.

“I am utterly indifferent to sexual orientation. I’m just merely not attracted to her.” In reality, Cas was never really attracted to anyone. There had been a few people in his past, but none of note.

“So is there anyone here who would get your mojo going?” Gabe said now, much to Castiel’s chagrin, becoming interested.

Before Cas could answer, the bartender has returned. “Here you go, boys. Let me know if you need anything else, the name’s Jo.”

About halfway through their first round, a group of people walked in, included within them was Kali. The pretense that Cas was needed as Gabriel’s wingman was abandoned after the second round. Hence Cas found himself alone at the bar. He stood up to go to the bathroom. He walked past the back table, which now held and empty plate along with the paperwork. The occupant wasn’t present.

Cas glanced down at the files, and stopped in his tracks. They were of evidence pieces from what appeared to be a police file, but they were of artwork. Cas stood next to the table scanning the photographs. He recognised all the pieces, and was taken aback when he saw a few of them, especially the Blake.

“You shouldn’t be looking at those.” A gruff voice said from behind Cas. He turned to see the man who had been sat at the table for the better part of the night. He was slightly taller than Cas, with short spiky hair and green eyes. His arms were crossed over his broad chest.

To say Castiel’s breath hitched would be an understatement. The man who was stood in front of him as gorgeous, even clad in worn jeans and plaid shirt. He probably would look good in anything, _or nothing_ , a voice in his head supplied.

They just stared at each other until Cas finally found his voice. “My apologies, but I couldn’t help but notice some of the photographs. Blake’s piece for instance.”

The stranger’s eyebrows lifted in shock briefly. “You know your art.”

“I like to think so.” Cas said, a sly smile on his face.

“Still, it’s an active case. Can’t have you looking.” Dean said, taking a step towards the table.

“Shame. Though there are better things to look at in this place.” Cas said with a shrug.

“Really?” Dean said, a smirk creeping across his lips.

Cas took a step towards the stranger, ignoring personal space, letting his eyes give him a quick once over of the green-eyed man. “Definitely.” And with that Cas continued on the to restroom. It took everything not to turn and look back at the stranger.

 

* * *

 

Dean walked over to the bar for a quick shot. His eyes started to see double in the files. He’d give himself 15 more minutes and head home. The bar had gotten louder anyway, a big group walked in a little while ago so Dean wasn’t too keen on staying out much longer.

As he walked back to his table, he noticed someone standing next to it. It was a tall guy, nearly as as tall as Dean with messy hair and dressed pretty casually. The jeans he wore fit him quite well, so Dean did smile to himself when he checked out the guy’s ass. Dean was an equal opportunity kind of guy, had been since high school. And this guy, at least from the back, was definitely worth a look, even if Dean was in a somewhat self-imposed dry spell.

“You shouldn’t be looking at those.” Dean said, crossing his arms over his chest. The guy turned and to Dean did all he could not to let his jaw drop. The guy looked good from the back, but holy shit, he was not prepared for seeing his face. Piercing blue eyes stared intently at him, Dean was glad the bar was warm, so a flush that was probably creeping up his neck was hopefully not visible.

They just stared at each other for who knows how long until the other man spoke. “My apologies, but I couldn’t help but notice some of the photographs. Blake’s piece for instance.” His voice was like smoke and whiskey poured over gravel. Dean liked it, a lot.

Dean couldn’t help but be impressed, he would never think of finding someone randomly who could identify the photographs that littered the table. “You know your art.”

“I like to think so.” The stranger said, a small knowing smile on his face.

“Still, it’s an active case. Can’t have you looking.” Dean said, taking a step towards the table and towards the stranger. The closer he got, the warmer he felt. There was a also a slight smell of cinnamon coming off the man, and honey. Dean wanted to get closer to make sure.

“Shame. Though there are better things to look at in this place.” The blue-eyed man said with a shrug.

“Really?” Dean said, a smirk creeping across his lips.

The stranger stepped closer, ignoring personal space, his eyes undoubtedly gave Dean a quick once over. “Definitely.” It was cinnamon and honey Dean had smelled, and something else, but he couldn’t tell what before the man moved off. . The stranger then walked away without a backwards glance. Dean just stood there in shock, and gave an involuntary shiver. He licked his lips and started to pack up the files slowly, hoping the guy would come back out soon. Maybe talk more, but his thoughts were interrupted by a phone call.

“Hello?” Dean said, not glancing at the caller ID.

“Dean! I need your help! Can you come over?” It was his brother. Sam, the perpetual cockblock. Dean took a longing look towards the restrooms and sighed. “Of course, Sammy.” Dean said packing up his stuff and walking out of the bar.

 

* * *

 

To say Cas was disappointed was an understatement. After he returned from the restroom the table that the strange had sat at was empty. He didn’t think he took too long in the bathroom. It was unisex, and the two women in front of him had taken forever, so it really wasn’t his fault.

Cas gave a resigned sigh, and grabbed his jacket from where he had left it at the bar. Gabriel was whispering something in the ear of a stunning Indian woman, Kali, he surmised, so Cas knew he wouldn’t be missed.

 

* * *

 

Dean had rushed to Sam’s, cabbing it the whole way, to find that his little brother was babysitting and in over his head while Sarah had taken the night to spend with friends. So instead of chatting up a gorgeous blue-eyed stranger, Dean spent the remainder of his Friday night up to his elbows in dirty diapers. Best little brother ever.

“Sorry, Dean. I hope I didn’t pull you away from anything.” Sam said once they were able to settle Colt pretty quickly once Dean arrived.

“Magic touch, Sammy.” Dean said.

“It’s Sam.” He said giving his brother one of his patented bitchfaces.

He chuckled softly. He knew he hadn’t answered Sam’s statement. Dean wasn’t sure if he imagined the blue-eyed stranger and how he looked at Dean. He knew he’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t feel anything. He didn’t know what it was about the guy, but Dean was sorry he left, especially while the guy stepped away. Definitely pissed he didn’t get a name.

Having never noticed the guy at The Roadhouse before, and Dean would have surely noticed someone that breathtaking, he must be a one-timer. Dean sighed and laid his nephew in the crib.

“Just wasn’t meant to be, little man.” Dean said quietly. He meant to convince himself, though it seemed difficult to do so.

 

* * *

 

Cas went for a long run Saturday morning. He didn’t mean to run all the way to Battery Park, but his exasperation made his mind forget the distance. It wasn’t even noon and he couldn’t get the green-eyed stranger out of his head. After getting home the night before and jerking off to the memory in frustration, he didn’t feel better, but rather worse. It had been a long time since someone had gotten to him like this, probably never if he had to be fully honest with himself.

He took a long shower once he returned from the extended run, and thought back to the photos laid out on the table. The man was a cop of some sort, as the files were labelled NYPD. Whether city or federal was unclear, but the fact that there was a photo of Blake’s painting as evidence shook Cas.

He hadn’t seen that in a long time, not since he was a child. His grandfather had it for a while, Cas never knew what became of it. To be honest, he never knew what became a lot of the pieces that his grandfather… procured. Then again, he tried his best to not get involved in any of that anymore, or at least he hadn’t in the past decade since his grandfather died.

Cas walked into his bedroom and stared at the painting of the garden on the wall. It was the only thing he kept of his grandfather’s possessions. It probably wasn’t the wisest of choices but it’s not like he ever had guests. Especially of the handsome, bowlegged variety.

Cas sighed and sat down surrounding himself with his own research and undergraduate papers to grade. “Fortune’s fool.” Castiel whispered to himself, then buried his head in work for the next two days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam & Sarah's Place - http://streeteasy.com/building/the-clayton/5a


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massive thanks to jentothepen for the on-the-fly beta-ing. Love you!

Monday morning rolled around with Benny and Dean were headed to police storage to take a look at the recovered art. Dean had tried to get the guy from the bar on Friday out of his head, but in doing so was unnaturally quiet. Sam hadn’t said anything that evening, and Dean buried himself in case files and whiskey for the remainder of the weekend. And if he had jerked off furiously to the memory of the blue-eyed man on Saturday night in a fit of drunken haze, it just between him and his right hand. Benny,though, noticed.

“So… anything interesting happen this weekend?” The Cajun asked as they stopped at the light. Dean hated the police issue vehicle, but he couldn’t get his Baby, a 1967 Chevy Impala registered by the department no matter how hard he tried, so he was stuck with the ugly black sedan with no cassette deck. It made Dean angry at first, but Sam, who was less of a luddite than his brother, made a Spotify playlist with Dean’s favourite albums. Benny showed Dean how it worked, but Dean moaned about douching up an already douche car. Benny just sighed and put on the music, if only to shut Dean up. Since then, it had become routine, and Benny rarely, if ever, got to drive.

“No.” Dean said in a clipped tone. Benny glanced at his partner.

“Uh huh.” He said unconvinced. “Someone piss in your Wheaties?”

Dean didn’t say anything as the light changed and he hit the accelerator.

 

* * *

 

Cas laid on his bed and started at the Klimt on the wall. The garden it depicted was colorful and reminded him of the villa Spain where he'd spend the summers with his grandfather when he was younger. They would fill up the outdoor pool with a garden hose and float for hours. Castiel always felt like he was flying when he'd laying the water.

It'd been at least 5 years since he'd been there, he's sure the house had gone into a modicum of disrepair by now. He always considered going back there once the weather gets warm, but the pangs of loneliness were too much, so decided against it every time.

Cas had become complacent in his life. He had things he enjoyed, but for the most part he felt like he was just going through the motions. There was no spark or fire that really caught him. Well, except for the green-eyed stranger.

It had been two weeks since he saw him. Cas has considered going back to The Roadhouse most every night, but since the man had run off, Cas felt there was no point.

The song shifts to something a little moodier, and Cas thinks that his playlist must be psychic. He sighs and stares at the flowers, each painted so delicately.

Not ten minutes later, Cas’s worries become compounded when Jeff Buckley’s _Hallelujah_ starts to play. His thoughts shift from the man in the bar to the files on the table.

He knows many fake paintings have cropped up through the years, as well as recovered originals. The Blake painting in particular disappeared in the early 19th Century. Cas knows that it traded hands once or twice before it ended up in a rich man’s living room in Geneva.

He also knows that the man, Richard Roman, a terrible alias, was not a good man. The crimes he committed should have put him in The Hague, but many Nazis were clever. His taste in art, though, was quite impressive despite his personality. Jimmy had thought so as well.

Though Jimmy never raised a hand to anyone in his life, he wanted to make an exception for Dick. Instead he just relieved the man of his stolen treasures. Some went back to the families that had lost said pieces during the early, others were kept. Jimmy didn't like to sell items if he could help it. He felt like it contributed to the bad behaviour. It was hypocritical, but he didn't care. But he never felt bad selling the forgeries, and thankfully due to his skill no one was the wiser. Jimmy was an excellent painter, but Castiel was better.

Cas hadn't picked up a brush since his grandfather died. He knew full well how he was raised and by whom, but never regretted it. Jimmy Novak was a good man who cared about his family, and that meant Castiel.

Sometimes he thinks about how different he would have been if his parents hadn't died so early in his life. He knew what they looked like, but had no memory of them. Then again, what do you expect from a 3 month old baby?

To say Cas had an unorthodox upbringing would be putting it mildly, but he wouldn't change a thing. He wouldn't change his life at all… Well, he would maybe change one thing.

Susan Cagle’s _Happiness is Overrated_ starts to play. Cas just stares at the flowers even harder trying to ignore the green.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massive thanks to jentothepen for the on-the-fly beta-ing. Love you!

As the weeks pass, another cache of artwork is discovered. Vice keeps raiding establishments in connection with one of their ongoing cases involving Fergus Crowley, but they can't get a solid relation between him and the art in anyway. It's frustrating for Vice as well as Dean and Benny.

Frustrated had pretty much become Dean's baseline mood nowadays. He has slowly become snappy or closed off with most of the people around him. There was even an ill-fated moment with his mom's neighbor, Mrs. M, who didn't stand for sass. Dean just stalked off like a petulant child instead.

Things came to a head at his mother’s one Tuesday night. Sam, Sarah, and the baby were over, as well as Dean. He just stabbed at his dinner, as everyone tried to hide their curious glances. Mary's lasagna was one of Dean's favorite dishes, and he'd barely touched it, when he would have had his usual three helpings by now.

“So,” Sam says throng to break the tension, “how's that case going with the long lost art?”

Sarah pipes in with actual curiosity. “Yeah, I'm really quite curious. Is it true that you've also got a Monet now?” Colt adds to the conversation by snuffling in his mother's lap.

Dean just grunts. Mary looks at her eldest son and tosses down her napkin. “Dean.” She says sternly, “Kitchen. Now.” And gets up knowing full well that he will follow her, especially since it wasn't a request but an order.

Dean lets out a breath and follows his mother. She turns to look at him once they are ensconced in the room together.

“Talk.” She says crossing her arms. Dean just stares at the floor. “We can stand here all night. You might think you'll wait me out, but I've dealt with more stubborn than you.” She was referring to John. Dean knew this.

“It's just this case.” He says weakly.

“Bullshit.” She responds.

Dean looks at her. “I don't want to talk about it.”

She looks at her eldest son. Mary knows Dean is hurting for some reason, and there are very few things he won't discuss with her. “Whomever you're moping over, they better damn well be worth it because I've never seen you like this, sweetheart.” She steps closer to her son, placing a hand on his cheek. Dean leans into her touch. “I'm not going to press you, but whatever it is, you can fix it.”

“There's nothing to fix because there is no one.” Dean says quietly.

Mary sighs, there's really nothing she can say to ease Deans emptiness, so she just pulls him in for a hug.


	6. Chapter 6

If Dean was in a better frame of mind, he might have thought Dr. Anna Milton was attractive. Benny and Dean made a trip up to Columbia to speak to the professor. It was a suggestion from Sarah, as she knew that the academic was somewhat well versed in lost art.

Her red hair was as vibrant as her smile. It was obvious she was flirting with him as they spoke, but Dean didn’t respond. “So, about these--”

There was a knock at the door. Anna looked at the officers, “I’m sorry, that must be my TA dropping of some work. Come in!” She called.

The door opened, and Cas walked in. “Dr. Milton--” He started when Dean turned. Castiel’s eyes went wide for a second.

“Castiel, it’s okay. These are Detectives LaFitte and Winchester, they are from the NYPD’s Art Crimes Division. I’m just helping them out with a recent case.” She motioned to the two men seated in front of her desk. “Gentlemen, this is my TA, Castiel Novak.” Cas nodded to both men, his eyes lingering on Dean.

Dean felt like he couldn't breathe. He was here. Right in front of him. Dean feels warm and flushed. He also feels really stupid, why didn't he think of looking for Cas at the local universities. It's not like everyone was versed in 19th Century stolen artwork. Then again, Dean had nothing to really go on to be honest, not even a name.

He was even more stunning than Dean had remembered. His eyes bluer, his hair messier, his legs…  Cas was dressed in dark jeans and a blue sweater that made his eyes almost glow. Dean was probably drooling, and his pants were definitely a little tighter.

“My apologies, I was just dropping off the graded papers from last week.” Cas said evenly.

“Wow, that was quick. I wasn’t expecting them back for at least another few days.” She said impressed.

“Yes, well, my weekend was quite uneventful, and I had the time.” He said, trying not to look at Dean. Dean mentally swore to himself.

The last thing Cas expected when he walked into Anna’s office was was the green-eyed man who cropped up in his dreams. Yet there he was. Castiel felt like an idiot, of course he would probably come see Anna, considering her research area. He also had NYPD files, which meant that would have narrowed the possibilities of who he was, yet Cas can't forget the fact that he ran out when Cas stepped away to the bathroom. A wave of disappointment runs over Cas as he remembers the rejection.

“Small blessings, then. Thank you.” Anna took the papers from Castiel and walked back to her desk.

“No problem, Dr. Milton.” He said, his eyes then glanced to Dean and his partner. “Detectives.” Cas then turned and left, trying not to show his haste.

Dean, on the other hand, was still trying to recover from shock. The stranger from The Roadhouse had turned up again. He wasn’t going to let the opportunity slip through his fingers, not again. Benny had started talking to Dr. Milton again after the door shut.

“Excuse me for a moment.” Dean said, pulling his phone from his pocket. “I have to take this.”

Benny looked at him quizzically. “I didn’t hear it ring.”

“It’s on vibrate.” Dean said, and quickly left the office.

He didn’t know which was Castiel went but headed toward the stairwell in hope that he hadn’t gotten too far. He looked down the hallway and peaked in any open door he saw.

He noticed someone head to the stairwell, and was about to follow when his phone actually rang. “Fuck.”

 

* * *

 

Cas had retreated from Dr. Milton’s office quickly and headed to the nearby stairwell. He had not expected to see the green-eyed man again. He had resigned himself to the fact that it was a lost chance, but here he was on campus. Cas needed to figure out an excuse to head back to the office, if only to make sure he wasn’t imagining the man’s presence.

 _This is crazy,_ Cas thought to himself. _You saw him once, well twice now. He left so obviously he wasn’t interested. You’re acting like a middle schooler with a crush. You’re better than this Castiel. You’re 33 years old, not 12._ Cas took a breath and turned to head back through the door, when it bursted open.

A blonde haired man walked though, “Oh my apologies.” He looked Cas up and down. “I don’t believe we’ve met.” He stuck his hand out. “Balthazar Roche.”

Cas looked at the man, he was about the same height, maybe a little shorter, blonde, and spoke with a European accent, which seemed a cross between French and British. “Castiel Novak.

Something seemed off about Balthazar to Cas, maybe it was the cloying smile or the lingering touch, but Cas tried not to judge people too quickly. He also was trying not to fault the man from stopping him from heading back to Dr. Milton’s office under imaginary pretense. _At least you have a name this time._ He told himself. _But was he LaFitte or Winchester? Dammit._

 

* * *

 

“Hello?” Dean said into the receiver.

“You boys done at the university, yet?” A gruff voice asked. It was Captain Robert Singer, Dean and Benny’s supervisor.

“Yeah, just about.” He looks up and down the hallway one more time, a bit forlorn and curses internally.

“Good, because Vice recovered a few more things that might be related across town during a raid in Hell’s Kitchen.” He could hear Bobby shuffling files as he spoke.

“Is everything still on scene or has it been bagged and tagged?” Dean asked, pulling out a small notebook from his suit jacket and started taking notes. Everything was sent electronically, but he liked the feel of paper and pen still. Also, Dean could barely work the smart phone he held, and needed a two-hour tutorial from his neighbour, Charlie, when he first got it.

Just after hanging up with Bobby, Benny exits the professor’s office. “Huh, guess you did have a phone call?” He said with a small smirk. Dean was a bit pissed that he kind of got cockblocked by his captain, but he didn't want to let Benny in on that tidbit of information, so he just glared at his partner.

“It was the Captain, they found another stash.” Dean said, ignoring the comment. They quickly headed to the elevator. As the doors shut, Dean sighed.

 

* * *

 

After being cornered for roughly 10 minutes, Cas finally extricated himself from Balthazar. The stairwell doors opened, as the lift doors closed, and Cas walked back towards Dr. Milton’s office to find it dishearteningly quiet. The detectives had left. He sighed and turned back to the stairwell to head to his office.

To be honest, Balthazar wasn’t that bad; well-educated and charming, Castiel could see the appeal he would have to some, though not to him. Balthazar was completing his PhD in Art History, and obsessed with “Holocaust Art” - or rather works stolen or destroyed during and just before World War II. Castiel knew a great deal on the subject, but kept it to himself.

Though he missed another chance with the green-eyed man, at least he had a name, kind of.

 

* * *

 

Dean knew it was wrong, but he also knew eating a whole pie in one sitting or drinking half a 5th of whiskey was wrong, but he still did both of those things. This, though, this was toeing the line considerably. To be honest, he probably passed the line as soon as he opened up the program.

He typed Castiel’s name into the NYPD database. While it searched he both hoped it would and wouldn’t appear. Thankfully, it came up blank. He wasn’t in the system. Dean breathed a sigh of relief. He then turned to Google, which he should have really done in the first place, but he was apparently dropped on his head as a child, or at least that’s what his younger brother Sam claims.

Not much turned up on the internet search. Though, interestingly enough, it showed that Cas (as Dean started to call him in his head), was a PhD in History, not Art, which Dean found interesting. His thesis was on some obscure things that Dean had never heard of in regard to 18th Century New York City. As well as Dean knew art, he knew pretty much nothing about the city where he grew up.

He kept scrolling until he heard the door to the office open, and Benny walked in with coffee for them both. “Find anything?” He asked, taking a sip of the dreadful stuff and wincing at the taste.

Dean quickly shut down the browser on his computer and cleared the history as quickly as he could. “Nope, nothing yet.” He gave Benny a smile in thanks as he took the proffered mug. “You?”

“Nada. This stuff is just coming out of the woodwork and it’s the craziest shit. Now we have Cezanne’s View of Auvers-sur-Oise and Caravaggio's Nativity with San Lorenzo and San Francesco, both of which are a Hell of a lot more recently stolen then the Blake. I’m honestly surprised that the FBI ain’t banging down our door yet.” Benny said taking a seat at his own desk. Dean nodded in agreement.

“I think that might have to do with the Captain, to be honest. That and since they’re all part of active NYPD cases.” Dean took a sip of the coffee, yeah, it was terrible. He took another sip. “Bet he talked to Turner already to keep Vic on a leash. Bet the guy is all kinds of pissed at the moment that he can’t come up from DC to stick his ugly mug in our way.”

Rufus Turner was the head of the FBI’s Art Theft Program, and, luckily for Dean and Benny, an old drinking buddy of Bobby’s. As it happens, Bobby was also a family friend of the Winchesters, so he was covered twofold. The lead agent for the 16 man FBI team was Victor Henriksen, who was a prick according to Dean. Benny never thought he was that bad, but they’d had a few run ins in regard to jurisdiction, which always left Dean on the losing end of the battle. Dean was a cranky son of bitch when he lost.

Hopefully, Bobby could keep the Feds at bay. At least long enough so they could close this case on their own. Benny nodded in agreement. “Bet Henriksen still has your face on his dartboard.”

Dean grinned at his partner. “Well, at least it's something pretty to look at.” He winked at Benny who just rolled his eyes and chuckled.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I'm stuck in a blizzard, thought I'd give you guys a bit more to read. Have fun in the snow! Stay warm!

The wind picked up as Cas left Butler Library. He tied the blue scarf a little tighter around his neck and frowned. He’s going to have to exchange his trenchcoat for something thicker soon, as layering is starting to become a hassle. He hitches his backpack over both shoulders and heads to his brownstone.

Cas spent a good deal of time on his research today, trying to keep his mind off both the recovered artwork and the green-eyed detective. He did breakdown mid-afternoon and Googled both detective LaFitte and Winchester. There was an article from the NY Times a couple of years back that mentioned them. No photo, but it talked about the fledgling NYPD division. It’s part of the Major Case Squad down at One Police Plaza.

The article does give both their first names though, Benjamin and Dean, respectively. He looks like a Dean. Cas said to himself when he read it.

After a little more digging, he finds out the green-eyed man is indeed Dean Winchester. He also learns a bit about John Winchester and frowns.

John Winchester was a petty thief, crook, and black market dealer. He worked for a network of hunters of rare antiquities of sorts. Cas even vaguely remembers the name from when he was younger, probably passed Jimmy’s lips in a story of some sort once upon a time.

The patriarch was now serving another stretch in Hudson Correctional Facility up near Albany. It was medium security, but nowhere John’s first time being incarcerated. Cas frowned. He stopped himself before he could learn more about the man who had captured his attention. Though, considering that the case he was currently working on was of concern to Cas, he didn’t consider knowing a little bit more about Dean being that untoward.

Cas treks down the familiar route home through Morningside Park. He walks past his place to pick up a burger from Harlem Shake because he can’t be bothered to cook. He takes the Hot Mess and heads home quickly.

He tosses his bag in the foyer and hang up his coat. Music still wafts through his headphones, before he changes it to the house speakers. God bless Bluetooth. Belle & Sebastian’s “Don’t Leave The Light On Baby” wafts through the house.

Cas wanders into the kitchen and grabs a bottle of Breckenridge Brewery’s Autumn Ale from the fridge before he unwraps the burger. He eats thoughtfully, though savouring the taste. Burgers make him very happy. It’s one of his only vices nowadays.

His mind wanders back to Dean. He’s also worried about the Blake. He members the painting as a child, being hung in his grandfather’s study. He didn’t want to, but he’d have to make a phone call soon, or worse, a visit. He had left that world in the dust, and didn’t want to get involved, but if more things kept cropping up, he would have no choice in the matter.

 

* * *

 

The paintings are turned over to Dean and Benny, and Captain Singer not too long after they are catalogued into evidence. With both of the detectives up to their ears in research, they can't find a correlation between the pieces recovered.

They've been tested for residue analysis, which should be back in a few days, but in the meantime, they need to talk to Dr. Milton again.

“We both don't need to go up there.” Dean says, trying to play down his anxiousness. He's hoping he’ll run into Cas again.

Dean has spent the better parts of his evenings trying not to think about the blue-eyed man, as well as his morning showers.

Benny looks up from his desk, “You’re right, I'll head up after lunch.”

Dean tries not to react, “Naw man, I got it.”

Benny looks at him suspiciously, “Uh huh, and when have you ever volunteered to take a solo interview.”

Dean stands and starts gathering files from his desk, “Loads of times.”

“Name one.” Benny asks, leaning back in his chair.

Dean quickly racks his brain, “The Braeden Case.” Dean flinches slightly at the name. That didn’t turn out well for him or Lisa.

“So, you got a thing for the Professor, then?” Benny asks, knowing full well what happened with Lisa.

Dammit, Dean thought. “No, I barely met the woman.”

Benny leans forward, steepleing his finger, his gaze never wavering. “Novak.” Dean stalls for a second while packing his bag. Benny smiles. “Thought you ran out pretty quickly for that ‘phone call’.”

Dean looks at Benny, both flustered and angry, “Hey, I was talking to the Captain.”

“Coincidental timing. Bet he called while you were looking for the guy.”

“Shut up.” Dean says, buckling the leather satchel. Benny’s grin just grows wider.

“Did you at least catch up to him? Give him your number?” Dean closed his eyes and hung his head. Benny knew Dean was bisexual, Hell, he tried to set his partner up with both guys and girls to no avail.

“Benny.” Dean said, dragging a hand over his face.He stands and puts on his coat.

“Hey, I’m just happy that someone finally caught your eye. I thought you’d went full monk. Nice to know I was wrong. Though, the $100 I bet on you with Charlie doesn’t hurt.” Benny said with a shrug.

“What?!” Dean said shocked, stopping mid-buttoning. Charlie Bradbury was Dean’s downstairs neighbour and the three of them had hung out on various occasions. Apparently Benny was really good at Call of Duty, and all three had a shared love of Star Wars and went from there. Heck, last Halloween they went out together in a group costume. For the record, Dean makes a damn good Han Solo, no matter how much Benny’s bitched about the Chewbacca suit being too warm. Andrea ended up being Luke Skywalker while Charlie went as Princess Leia. She ended up going home with a different Han Solo that night, which is how she ended up with her girlfriend Dorothy Baum for nearly the last year.

“Hey, she’s the one who bet me. So take it up with the Queen.” Benny said with a smile.

“Yeah, yeah.” Dean grumbled. “I’ll give you a call when I’m done with the professor.” He said, attempting to change the subject.

“Okay, Romeo.” Benny said, still giving Dean a smile. Dean rolls his eyes and leaves the office.

 

* * *

 

Dr. Milton’s office is on the 8th floor of the Schermerhorn Building. Dr. Moseley’s office is on the 4th floor, and Castiel shares his on the 5th floor. Normally, Cas takes the stairs, but today, his hands are a bit full of books.

He sees the lift doors closing. “Hold the lift, please.” A hand shoots out to catch the door, and it opens. Castiel sighs and steps inside. “Thank you.” He looks over to his saviour to see Detective Winchester.

When Dean shot his arm out, he hadn’t heard the voice clearly, as he was checking his phone. When he looked up and saw Castiel, his heart nearly leaped into his throat. They just stared at each other for a moment until Dean found his voice. “Wh-what floor?”

“Five.” Cas said, a small smile on his lips. Two floors pass in silence, and Dean is running out of time. He takes a breath.

“I’m sorry, my brother…” Dean started, but Cas cocked his head to the side, his brow furrowing.

“I don’t--” He said confused.

“At The Roadhouse. He called me in a panic. I didn’t mean to, um, I mean--” Dean said stumbling over his words.

“Was he okay?” Cas asked with genuine concern.

Dean waved him off with a hand, “Yeah, he just has a newborn that likes me better than him.”

A small smile crept to Cas’s lips and relief flooded his thoughts. “I thought I had scared you away.” Dean merely shook his head no. “Castiel Novak, by the way. I’d shake your hand, but...” He lifts the books.

Dean licked his lips and looks at the books, “Dean Winchester. Did you- do you want a hand?” Dean says, reaching for the looming stack in Cas’s hands.

“Oh, that’s okay. I don’t-” Cas starts to say, as Dean starts halving the pile in his hands.

Cas just watches him carefully take a little more than half the books he was hold. “Thank you, Dean.”

They ride the last bit in silence, and Cas steps out into the hall with Dean following close behind. “So,” Dean starts, “what do you do here?” Dean knows full well the answer to that question, but he’d rather hear it from Cas himself.

“I’m finishing my PhD in History, my specialisation is New York City.” Cas says turning down the hallway. He stops in front of his door and frowns. It’s closed and most likely locked.

“Give it.” Dean says motioning to the remaining books in Cas’s hands. Cas piles the ones left in his hands onto Dean’s stack with a quiet thank you. He pulls his keys from his coat pocket, and opens his office door. He enters and hold the door for Dean.

“You can just leave them over there.” Cas points to a desk in the far corner. Unlike his home, the desk is a cluttered mess. Papers and books cover the surface. There are historical photos and notes tacked to the walls.

“Uhhh.” Dean says taking the sight in.

“Just leave it near the coffee mug.” Cas says closing the door behind Dean.

Dean sees a half full mug perched precariously on the edge of the desk. “Uh, Cas. I think you might just need to move stuff or stick the stack on the floor. I mean, how do you even find anything in that nest.”

Cas glowers at him, narrowing his eyes. “I know where everything is, thank you.” He takes a number of books off the top of Dean’s pile, then stops. “Cas?” He’s staring right at Dean.

Dean clears his throat, “Sorry.”

“No, that’s fine. Better than what Gabriel calls me.” Cas said, turning and placing things on his desk, near the coffee mug.

“Your brother?” Dean asks hopefully.

“No, I’m an only child.” Cas say, catching the books as they slightly slide. He huffs almost silently, okay, so maybe Dean had a point about the… chaos.

Dean steels himself. “Boyfriend?”

Cas lets out a laugh. “I’d rather chop off a limb.” He looks over his shoulder and smiles at Dean. In return, Dean gives Cas a kind of dopey smile. “He’s one of my officemates. He does Theology. Gabe is the one who dragged me to the bar that Friday.” Cas said, walking closer to retrieve more books from Dean. Their eyes meet again.

“Guess I owe him one, then.” Dean says.

“It would seem so.” Cas’s hand graze Dean. He can feel the softness of the back of Dean’s hands. Cas muses that his palms might be equally soft or possibly rough and callused. He aches in that moment to find out.

Suddenly, the door bangs open, and Gabriel walks in. “Speak of the devil.” Cas mutters, and quickly takes the rest of the books. The moment between them is sufficiently shattered.

Gabriel looked between the two, his hand still on the doorknob. “Am I interrupting something?”

Cas stepped back and Dean cleared his throat. “No. Thanks for your help Mr. Novak.” Dean hear himself say. _What the fuck?_

Dean looked at Cas, swearing he saw a glint of something, sadness possibly, in his eye, but it was gone just as quick.

"Yes, anytime Detective. If you have any further questions, please feel free to contact me directly." Cas walks over to his desk. From the side drawer, he pulls out a business card.

Dean can barely contain his relief. _Cas, you're a fucking genius_ , he thinks.

Cas walks back around the desk and hands the car to Dean, their fingers brushing ever so slightly. Cas holds back a shiver.

Dean nods, "Good afternoon, then." He gives a tight lipped smile to Gabriel, and leaves the office. It takes everything not to look back at Cas.

"Making friends?" He hears Gabriel say as he walks down the hall out of earshot. Dean just smiles.   


* * *

  
  
Cas squares shoulders as if preparing for battle. "He is a detective from the NYPD dealing with recovered art. Nothing more."

Gabriel looks at Cas unconvinced. "Right, and I'm really an archangel." Gabriel cocks his head, "Wait, haven't I seen that guy before?"

Cas turns to start dealing with his desk. "Not unless you've been arrested recently."

"No, not recently." He responds with waggling eyebrows.

Castiel shakes his head and starts to reorganize his office space to accommodate his new library acquisitions.

 

* * *

  
  
Dean eventually makes it up to Dr. Milton's office. He goes over some of the recent recoveries. "You know," she says moving slightly closer, "we could continue this over dinner maybe?"

Dean knew she was possibly before, and Dean is a natural flirt, it makes it easier to get information from people. If not for a certain bed-headed graduate student, Dean might have taken the woman up on her offer a few years ago, but there are two things not working in the professor's favour: Firstly, there is something about Cas that Dean can't shake, and he'd rather not screw that up before it even started. Secondly, there's just something about Dr. Milton that makes Dean feel like he might just be another pretty face. It's not fair to the redhead, but he's just not in it the same way she seems to be, and would rather not be that guy. He's over being that guy, to be honest. 

"Sorry, Dr. Milton, but I don't think my boyfriend would appreciate that." He heard the words coming out of his mouth. _Boyfriend?!_ He was thinking of Cas when he said it, and the business card  was burning a hole in his pocket. 

Anna reacted immediately. "Oh, I'm sorry, I --" 

"It's okay, but thank you for the offer." Dean said with a warm smile. 

The professor obviously felt pretty awkward after that incident, so they wrapped things up pretty quickly. 

Dean thanked her and left. As soon as he was in the lift, he pulled out Castiel's card. It was a generic card, it's not much flourish, but Dean looked at it like it was the most precious piece of art he'd ever held. 

He added the details into his phone and opened up the text message app. 

He stared at the blinking text cursor figuring out what to type.

After several aborted introductions ranging from funny to flirty, he finally settled simplicity.

_Dean: Hey Cas it's Dean_

Yeah, he could have used punctuation, but him using this fancy thing to start with was enough. Besides, autocorrect caught most of it.

He was about to pocket his phone when it buzzed.

_Cas: Hello, Dean._

The formal tone made Dean smile.

_Cas: I apologize for Gabriel. He can be a bit… much._

_Dean: Well he could’ve had worse timing_

_Cas: Indeed._

Dean didn't know where to go from here, but the three dots were still moving, which meant Cas was still typing.

_Cas: I hope Dr. Milton was able to assist you further with your investigation._

_Dean: Yeah we still have a few loose ends though_

_Cas: I would be happy to offer my assistance, if necessary._

Dean bit his lip. He could take Cas up on the offer or he could just not be a coward. He took door number three.

_Dean: I thought you were a historian_

_Cas: I'm fairly well versed in art history as well, as evidenced in my position as TA._

Cas wasn't making this easy for Dean. It wasn't the best idea to mix work and… non-work. It didn't bode well in the past for Dean. Looks like he had to man up. Dean groaned audibly.

_Dean: I'd rather not_

Before he could text a follow up, Cas responded. He felt like he could hear the other man’s frown.

_Cas: Oh, alright, then._

_Dean: let a guy finish, would ya! it's because I'd rather ask you out dinner_

There was a long pause.

_Dean: Cas?_

The doors to the lift opened at the lobby, and Dean happened upon Cas staring at his screen with a cup of coffee in the other. Dean swallowed.

“Cas?” Dean said softly.

Cas jerked his head up, his face red. “Dean.”

“Look if--” Dean started to say.

“Yes.” Cas smiled softly. “I'd like that.”

Dean starts to smile as the door closes. This time Cas stocks his arm out to stop it. He steps forward into Dean’s space. There is electricity running between them that is palpable in the air. They stare at one another again.

“Friday.” Dean says.

Cas glances at the detective’s lips before returning to his eyes. “That is acceptable.”

Someone clears their throat from behind Cas. It's an Asian kid that Cas is sure he's seen in a survey class before. _Kenneth? Kevin? Keith?_ He can't remember.

Dean and Cas bypass one another, Dean heading toward the door, and Cas into the lift with _Killian? Kirk? Kevan?_

As the door closes, Dean sees Cas smile.

 

* * *

 

As Dean heads away from the Schermerhorn Building, he remembers something important. Today is Thursday. So he's got just over 24 hours to plan his first date in God knows how long. _Fuck._

He starts racking his brain. In a fit of what is possibly blind panic, he texts Cas.

_Dean: So I just realized Friday is tomorrow._

_Cas: It generally comes after Thursday._

_Cas: You aren't reconsidering?_

_Dean: Definitely not._

_Dean: Any preferences?_

_Cas: Not really. Though I wouldn’t say no to pie._

Dean’s brain stuttered. His smile went wide. This guy seemed to be getting better by the minute in Dean's estimations.

_Dean: You just said the magic word there, Cas._

_Cas: ;)_

_Dean: Are you okay with Brooklyn?_

_Cas: That’s fine. I’m not fussed by the subway._

_Dean: I’ll meet you at Hunter’s at 6p?_

_Cas: Never been, but I'll look up the address. See you then._

_Dean: Awesome._

Dean finally breathes easy and whistles all the way back to the precinct.

 

* * *

 

Dean spent the rest of the day smiling. Benny didn’t say anything, but he’d known Dean for a long time, and knew something was up. The hours went by quickly, with Dean finally letting slip about his date with Cas. And by let it slip, he was dying to tell someone, and Benny fit the bill. “I’m happy for you, brutha.”

Dean just smiled.


	8. Chapter 8

Friday went by fairly quickly, as nothing new turned up. The detective's continued to comb through both the research they collected and the notes from their meetings with Dr. Milton. Dean found himself leaving work a bit early, or rather, he was bugging the crap out of Benny by 3p, so his partner tossed him out the door. The extra time helped, but now he stood in the middle of his bedroom at a loss of what to wear. He felt ridiculous as most of the contents of his closet was piled on his bed.

As he changed for the third time, there was a knock on his door. He pulled an old Led Zeppelin t-shirt over his head and answered it. He did not have time for this.

The door swung open to reveal a redhead with her hands on her hips, and an angry face. “How come I hear about this now?!” Dean rolled his eyes and walked back to his bedroom, as Charlie closed the door behind her and followed her neighbour. “Don’t you walk away from me. Benny took his damn sweet time to let me know. I got a text 10 minutes ago from him demanding his winnings.”

“I’m surprised he waited this long.” Dean said looking at a forest green cashmere sweater he didn’t remember buying.

“Probably because he was being nice and didn’t want you distracted from whatever case you’re working on, or maybe just to send me up here to help you get dressed because he knows how hopeless you are.” Charlie said digging through the pile of clothes strewn about. She handed him a nice pair of dark jeans and the cashmere jumper he was just considering. “With those brown boots you got last year, and the leather jacket.”

Dean just looked at her. “Thanks.” He pulled off the t-shirt and put the jumper on. “So, that’s it?” He said as Charlie sat and started refolding things.

“No, tell me about him.” She said as Dean pulled on the jeans.

“What do you want to know?” Dean said turning to look in the mirror. Not bad.

“Well, I’ve known you for five years. I cannot for the life of me remember the last time I saw you with anyone of any gender. So I’m just curious who made Dean Winchester into a blushing, stuttering idiot.” Charlie said with a grin.

“Excuse me?” He said turning around to look at the redhead.

She put her hands up in defense, “Hey, Benny’s words, not mine.” Dean grumbled something inaudible as Charlie laughed at her best friend.

“Ugh, the two of you sound like gossipy, old women.” He said, his nose wrinkling in mock disgust.

“Hey, we worry about you, Dean. Besides, you're allergic to cats, so you becoming a spinster is not an option. So, is he dreamy?” She asked wistfully.

Dean groaned and buried is face in his hands.

 

* * *

 

He stood outside the restaurant fifteen minutes early. Dean was too jumpy to sit at home and wanted to avoid more questioning from Charlie. He would never admit that he was nervous, but he was nervous. He took a breath, and heard soft footsteps behind him. He turned and saw Cas approaching with a smile.

Cas had never been so grateful for having a small wardrobe in his life. He pulled a pair of black jeans, a white shirt, and blue tie to wear this evening. He paired it with black boots and his black leather jacket. Upon seeing how Dean was dressed, he definitely made the right decision in regard to his clothing choices.

“Hello, Dean.” Cas said with a soft smile.

Dean smiled in return. “Heya, Cas.” They stood there for a moment, looking at one another. The air felt electric between then.  It was nearly unbearable. “Shall we?” Dean said, motioning to the restaurant.

“Of course.” Dean held the door for Cas as they entered. They were early for their reservation, but were lucky and seated anyway.

“I’ve never been here.” Cas said, looking over the menu.

“Yeah, I took my mom here once. It was her birthday, so my brother Sam and his wife came as well.” Dean said glancing at Cas.

“That’s nice. I’m sure she appreciated it.” Cas said looking up at Dean, who quickly looked down at the menu in his hands.

“Yeah.”

They ordered appetisers, mussels for Dean and the grilled kale salad for Cas. Dean’s eyes watched Cas’s hands as he unfolded the napkin to place on his lap. He had never wanted to be a piece of cloth so badly in his life. When the food came, Cas thought the same thing about Dean’s fork.

“So, you’re Dr. Milton’s TA? You do Art History, then?” Dean asked, though they both knew the answer.

Cas shook his head, “No, I’m actually a History PhD, but I’m well versed in Art History, it was my undergraduate major at Stanford.”

Dean raised his eyebrows, “My little brother wanted to go there, but got a full ride to Columbia instead.”

Cas cocked his head to the side. “Your brother attends Columbia?”

Dean swallows the mouthful of mussels and shakes his head, “He graduated ages ago. Went there for undergrad and law school, he’s now an ADA for the city.”

“Between the two of you, you’re like you’re own version of ‘Law & Order’ then?” Cas asked with a smile.

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, just call me Mike Logan.” Cas’s brow furrows at the reference. “He’s one of the detectives from the show.”

“To be honest, I’ve never seen it. I just know the vague premise.” Cas admits with a shrug.

“Seriously? Next thing you’re going to tell me is that you’ve never seen Star Trek.” Cas suddenly becomes very interested in his salad. “Oh man, we’ve got some serious Netflix to watch.” Cas looks up, and Dean suddenly blushed realising the implication of his last comment.

“I'm afraid I don't own a television, so that would be quite difficult.” Cas softly smiles, which allows Dean to let a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Lucky for us, I've got one then.” Dean says, offering a wary smile, hoping he hadn't read Cas’s comment wrong.

“Very lucky.”

The entrees arrived not too long afterwards. Cas ordered the Day Boat Cod and Dean had the Braised Beef. They held mostly constant conversation, and the silences were quite companionable when they came about. Halfway through the cod Cas admitted that though it was really good, he kind of wanted to order the burger, but wasn’t sure if it was appropriate etiquette.

“What? They make me very happy.” He said simply.

Dean laughed, “I have to admit, it did look good. Maybe next time.”

“Next time.” Cas repeated softly. They both smiled at one another and continued eating.

 

* * *

 

“Can I get you gentlemen dessert?” The waitress asked.

“No, thank you.” Dean said. He handed the waitress his credit card, not even bothering to ask for the check. Dinner had gone a bit over what Dean had planned, so he wanted to make sure they got there with enough time to spare.

They stepped outside, but the temperature had dropped a bit. “I thought that tonight would involve pie. Or was I wrong?” Cas said, zipping up his jacket.

“Oh, you weren’t wrong.” Dean said with a smile. Though it was short enough to walk, they hopped on the subway and took it to 9th Street. Once they stepped off, Dean grabbed Cas’s hand and led him down the street.

It was an unconscious move on Dean’s part, one that made him both warm and fuzzy inside, as well as panicked. Cas smiled at the gesture, and squeezed Dean’s hand in return. Dean turned to look at Cas, and couldn’t help but give the blue-eyed man a half smile. Everything that freaked Dean out seemed to slip away. Dean didn’t know how Cas was able to do it, but he honestly didn’t care.

It was only a block and an avenue away, but they made it before closing with time to spare. Four and Twenty Blackbirds was one of Dean’s favourite places in the city, mostly because they served really good pie.

Dean opened the door and the sweet smell hit them both immediately. Cas smiled as he walked past the mostly empty tables, and stepped toward the counter.

“Hi, what can I get you?” The girl asked with a smile.

“I’ll take a slice of the Bourbon Pear Crumble and a coffee. Cas?” Dean said, doing an internal cheer that they still had slices of his favourite pie flavour left.

“A slice of the Salty Honey and a coffee as well.” He said with a smile.

“Fresh cream?” The girl asked, ringing up the items.

Cas nodded. “For both please.” Dean said catching Cas’s agreement.

Dean paid, as well as pulling out his coffee loyalty card.

“Come here often?” Cas asked with a smile.

“You have no idea.” Dean said taking the stamped card back from the girl.

They sat at a table near the front, after adding milk to their coffees.

Cas was first to his pie, and made a sound that stopped Dean in his tracks with a fork halfway to his mouth. Cas closed his eyes and moaned softly through the taste of the delicious pie.

“Do you two want to be alone?” Dean asked after composing himself. Cas just smiled.

Dean then took his own bite of pie and made a similar moan. Cas just flushed red at the noise, while Dean looked at his date and winked.

  

* * *

 

They closed out the bakery, having another slice of pie each. Dean opted for the Brown Butter Pumpkin as Cas went for the Salted Caramel Apple. It was just past 8pm when they left the pie shop, Dean grabbed Cas’s hand as they walked out, feeling a little less apprehensive about the gesture. He didn’t really have a plan for what was next. Melody Lanes wasn’t too far, so they could go bowling. They walked up the darkened street in silence and made it halfway up the block until Cas stopped dead in his tracks. Dean jerked slightly. “Cas?”

Cas had decided after the first slice of pie that he needed to know what Dean tasted like. If he was honest with himself, he needed to know when he first saw the detective that fateful Friday weeks ago at The Roadhouse, but his mind was already clouded over with need.

He pulled Dean close to him, his eyes glancing at Dean’s lips in the moonlight before leaning in for a kiss. Dean’s hand went straight to Cas’s hair once their mouths met. It was as soft as Dean had thought, and the man tasted like pie, which made even happier and he let out a soft moan.

Cas fisted the back of Dean’s jacket and pulled him impossibly closer. They stood in the middle of the sidewalk making out as if their lives depended on it.

“Cas.” Dean managed as he started kissing down the slight stubble on the other man’s jaw.

Cas just closed his eyes and melted into the feeling of Dean mouthing down his neck. “Dean. We-- I--” Cas’s brain had seemed to short circuit. He couldn’t remember the last time that this had happened, if ever.

Dean pulled back and looked Cas, even in the dim light, he could tell Dean’s pupils were blown wide. “My place or yours?”

“I live in Harlem.” Cas said sucking in a breath.

“I’m in Brooklyn.” Dean said, not blinking.

“Yours. Now.” Cas nearly growled.

 

* * *

 

The subway took too long, so they walked up to 4th Avenue and grabbed a cab for the short ride to Dean’s. They kept their hands mostly to themselves, just holding one another's hand on the seat between them. Their eyes though, if ever the term “eye fucking” could ever be imposed on two people, this would definitely be the picture perfect definition.

The 34 block ride was mercifully quick. Dean pretty much just threw money at the cab driver as he and Cas exited the vehicle. Dean pulled Cas down the short walk to his apartment. They still kept their distance until Dean shut his front door behind him, letting Cas through first.

Cas pretty much slammed Dean up against the wooden door and resumed exploring the other man’s mouth with his tongue. Dean grabbed Cas’s hips and pulled him close. Dean could feel Cas’s erection through the layers of denim, and Cas ground himself into Dean. His hands were pulling at Dean’s hair, and they both continued grabbing at one another for what seemed like hours.

Dean’s hands slipped down and started to palm Cas’s ass. The shorter man moaned, and then pulled back from the kiss.

“You’re wearing too many clothes.” Cas’s voice had seemed to drop an octave, which made Dean’s dick twitch. It was also the first words either of them had spoken since Dean had told the cabbie the address.

Cas started to undress Dean while licking and biting down the taller man’s neck. Dean’s hands reluctantly moved from Cas’s ass and started undressing the blue-eyed man. He also started walking Cas backwards toward the bedroom as they went.

After bumping into walls as they ground up against one another and making out, they finally made it to the bedroom with just their boxers on.

Dean pushed Cas gently down on the bed and started kissing down his body. “Dean.” Cas moaned.

“Yeah, Cas?” Dean asked mouthing at Cas’s dick through the black boxer briefs.

“Can I fuck you?” Cas said, his voice heady and eyes half lidded as he looked at Dean. Dean surged upwards and started tongue fucking Cas to within an inch of his life before pulling away to grab supplies from the nightstand. “I’ll take that as a yes.” He said, as he reached down to remove his own underwear.

Dean had went out earlier in the week and bought condoms and a new bottle of lube, you know, just in case. The condoms he had in the house had expired last year. It made him cringe when he saw that. He thanked all that was holy that he had been optimistic about tonight’s date.

Pulling all the packaging off was taking frustratingly long, which made Dean grumble. Cas laughed lightly. “I guess I’m not the only one who hasn’t done this in awhile.” Dean looked back at Cas, who crawled over to where Dean sat. “But thankfully you’re worth the wait.” Cas took the bottle of lube, and pushed Dean backwards on the bed. He stripped the last remaining garment off the detective and smiled.

He leaned over Dean and kissed him, their naked bodies now flush against one another. They moaned in tandem, and Cas started making his way down Dean’s body, mouthing his skin as he headed south.

Dean closed his eyes and dipped his head back into the pillows. Yes, jumping into bed with Cas was probably not the best idea on a first date, but he didn’t give a rat’s ass at the moment. He moaned as Cas made his way down his body, his mouth now sucking and biting Dean’s nipples. He didn’t even hear the bottle cap on the lube snap open, but he did feel the cool finger covered in lube traced his hole.

“Yes.” He managed to eek out, as Cas started to press in with his finger. Cas moved slowly, but Dean rocked into Cas’s fingers eagerly. Soon enough, Cas worked in a second finger and started to scissor Dean open while his mouth moved to Dean’s other nipple. “Fuck, Cas. Yes. More.” Dean’s last coherent brain cells were able to help his mouth form words.

Cas pumped his fingers in and out of Dean enthusiastically, adding a third one then a fourth. Somewhere in between those, Cas’s mouth had found Dean’s again. They traded bruising kisses and bites. Both would sure have marks in the morning, but neither cared.

“Cas, c’mon. I’m ready. Please.” Dean said breathlessly.

Cas removed his fingers and grabbed the partially opened box of condoms. He ripped the rest of the box open, grabbing the nearest one as they flew everywhere. Dean laughed as Cas growled at the offending condoms. He quickly tore open the foil and rolled it over his leaking cock. He added more lube and then bent back over Dean. “Since it’s been a while, I would suggest you on your stomach, but I want to see you cum with my dick inside you. I want to see you scream my name.”

“Fuck. And I didn’t think that you could get any hotter.” Dean said in response to Cas’s dirty talk.

Cas leaned down close to Dean’s ear. “You have no idea.” He then licked the shell of Dean’s ear, as the green-eyed man below him moaned. Cas grabbed the underside of Dean’s knees and folded the larger man nearly in half. He lined himself up with Dean’s hole and slowly pushed inside. “Fuck, you are so tight.”

Dean forced himself to keep his eyes open to watch Cas enter him. Cas, though hasty, did a decent job prepping Dean, so there wasn’t too much of a burn. Once Cas bottomed out he held there for a moment so Dean could get acclimated to the feel of Cas inside him. “Cas. Uh, move. Please.”

Cas looked down at Dean, holding eye contact and started to thrust shallowly into him. They both moaned at the movement. Both Dean and Cas traded filthy words between them, though Dean’s soon devolved into “Cas! Fuck! Yes!”

Eventually Cas started to speed up, he grabbed Dean’s neglected cock and started fisting it in time with his own movements. “So close, Dean. You feel so good.” Cas said licking his own lips.

“Gotta cum, please.” Dean said, one hand holding on to the headboard, while the other moved to his cock and helped Cas jack him off.

“Do it, Dean. Cum for me.” Cas said thrusting harder and deeper, as well as hitting Dean’s prostated every time.

Dean let go as he painted his stomach with Cas’s name on his lips. Cas followed shortly after as he whispered Dean’s name almost reverently.

They took a moment to catch their breaths before Cas pulled out and collapsed on the bed next to Dean.

“So not that I’m complaining, far from it, but that’s not how I expected this night to go.” Cas croaked out, his voice somewhat hoarse.

“Ditto.” Was all Dean could manage.

It was another couple of minutes before Dean was able to stand and head to the bathroom to clean himself off, he didn’t even bother turning on the light, Cas followed, removing the condom and dropping it in the trash. They traded soft kisses.

“Stay.” Dean whispered in the darkened room. Hoping that this wasn’t just a one time thing.

“Of course.” Cas said quietly in return.

They made it back to the bedroom and under the covers. Dean crowded up against Cas, making the smaller man the little spoon. Dean sighed and kissed the nape of Cas’s neck.

“G’night Cas.” His eyes quickly drifting shut.

Cas smiled. “Goodnight, Dean.”


	9. Chapter 9

Cas was warm and comfortable. he snuggled further into the warmth, which felt of soft skin and was snoring. Cas smiled into the nape of Dean’s neck. They had switched positions in the night, but still held close.

Cas knew this was strange, and fast, but there was something about Dean that stuck with him. Drew him in like a moth to a flame; he felt like he couldn’t stay away. It was silly and overly dramatic, but in this moment, Cas could care less.

“I can hear you thinking over there, blue eyes.” Dean said, his voice groggy. Cas smiled again and kissed Dean’s skin with an open mouth. “And yeah, we should talk, but not right now. Sleep now. Food, then talk.” Dean wasn’t one for chick flick moments, and desperately avoided them like the plague, but he knew it was necessary.

Cas hummed in agreement, and gently thrust his body closer to Dean, his morning erection at half mast. “I think there should be an addendum to that program.”

Dean pressed his body back towards Cas and spoke, “I think that can be arranged.”

 

* * *

 

After some very lazy morning sex and another nap, both men finally dragged themselves out of bed. They showered together, trading kisses and sloppy handjobs in the process. Cas borrowed a pair of Dean’s NYPD sweatpants and the Led Zeppelin shirt Dean had pulled on briefly the other day. Dean wore his John Jay College shorts and a Black Sabbath shirt.

Cas made coffee, while Dean busied himself with making some buttermilk pancakes. Cas drenched his stack in honey, which made Dean smile, while he covered his own in maple syrup. They ate in companionable silence, until their eyes caught one another over the counter as they played footsie.

“So.” Dean said taking a sip of his coffee.

Cas swallowed his bite of pancake, and started. “To be honest, this is quite unprecedented.”

“That’s one way to put it, Cas.” Dean set his coffee down. “I know I said it’s been a while, and even longer since my last relationship. I don’t know what this is, but I know it’s something. Or at least, I kind of feel like it is. It’s fast, that’s for damn sure.” Dean glanced up at Cas, whose face remained stoic.

“I concur.” Dean huffed in laughter.

“The way you talk, man.” Cas tilted his head to the side, and Dean let out a full body chuckle. Cas couldn’t help but give Dean a gummy smile at the sight of the display before him. Dean settled down after a minute, and reached across the table for Cas’s hand. “Well, if this is going to continue, I guess we should, fuck, I don’t know. I hate this ‘chick flick’ stuff, and I’m not the best with words, man.” He pulled his hand away from Cas, and scratched the back of his neck.

“Dean.” Cas pulled Dean’s hand back and held it. “Neither do I, but I’d like to see where this goes. With you. Just you.”

Dean just stared at Cas and swallowed. “Same here.”

And that’s how Dean and Cas found themselves in an exclusive relationship after one date, though they don’t vocalise a label to what they’ve started. Yet Dean knew Charlie would have a fucking field day with this turn of events.

 

* * *

 

They finish breakfast with sly glances and smiles. Cas takes their plates and start the clean up, despite Dean’s protests.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Dean said coming up behind Cas.

“You cooked, so I clean.” Cas said nonchalantly.

Dean placed his hands on Cas’s hips and placed a kiss where his neck met his shoulders. “They can wait. ‘Sides guests shouldn’t do chores.” Dean’s kisses turn from pecks to open mouth ones dragging across the plains of Cas’s skin. Cas closes his eyes and dips his head back to Dean’s shoulder.

“Dean.” He breathes. A cheeky smile breaks across Dean’s face.

“See, this is a much better idea.” Dean says tugging Cas closer. Cas doesn’t say a word, but instead turns off the faucet as a reply.

 

* * *

 

Cas leaves Sunday morning, under the pretense of having to finish work. In reality, he knows that if he doesn’t leave now, he never will. The haze they have created is intoxicating for both of them. Dean would have happily stayed ensconced in his flat with Cas until forever. He walked Cas to the subway, against the blue-eyed man’s protests. “I’m not a child, Dean. I know how to navigate public transportation.”

After only two nights with Cas, Dean’s bed felt cold and empty without the company that had stretched out next to him. Dean couldn’t believe how quickly Cas had gotten under his skin, now that he could touch him. Dean closed his green eyes and dreamed of blue.

 

* * *

 

Cas sat on the train home in a daze. He couldn’t believe what he’d done for a variety of reasons. It wasn’t like him, gravitating towards someone like that. Dean felt like a drug that Cas just needed more of. He’d never been so wrapped up in anyone before. It scared him. In addition to how he felt about Dean, there was also a matter of his job. Not just the fact he was a police officer, but also because he worked in Art Crimes. Though Cas had never really done anything too illegal, it wasn’t the wisest of choices.

He might still have a lot of work in storage, but it was technically his grandfather’s. Heck, he wasn’t even paying the fee. It had been paid 50 years in advance before Jimmy died. Though Jimmy raised Cas in his image, he wanted more for his grandson. He didn’t want him to be him.

Cas sighed. He didn’t have to change trains, being able to take the D all the way home. He huffed a laugh at his own stupid pun. He didn’t know what to do about Dean, but he knew that he couldn’t stay away. It’s be too hard.


	10. Chapter 10

Monday morning rolled around. The Blake ended up being a fake, a really good one, but a fake nonetheless. None of the paintings or art that were recovered were real. All were reproductions, the style was reminiscent of a forger and thief long gone, or at least one that had gone silent. It nagged Dean to no avail, but there was nothing he could do. It didn’t matter though, the case was closed as far as the department was concerned. The thought of the forgeries stayed with him though, even it was just an unconscious thought in the back of his mind.

Around lunchtime, Cas texted Dean. It was a series of emojis, which made Dean just stare at his phone. For someone who spoke so formal, he really liked sending these stupid things. Especially the bee ones. Dean chuckled and asked Cas if he wanted to grab dinner again on Friday.

_Cas: I would like that very much._

_Dean: Awesome._

_Cas: Should I pack a bag this time, or is that too presumptuous._

_Dean: Not at all, though I do like seeing you in my clothes._

The rest of the week was spent clearing up paperwork on Dean’s end, and Cas working on the research for his thesis.

They had texted back and forth at random. Nothing too heavy. The use of emojis continued, and it was something that Dean found endearing.

 

* * *

 

There was laughter coming from Castiel’s shared office as he approached. He opened the door to find Gabriel and Balthazar laughing on the couch.

“Oh, hello again.” Balthazar said smiling at Castiel.

Cas looks at the Brit. _Yup, definitely smarmy_ , he thinks. “Hello Gabriel, Balthazar.” Cas then turns and takes a seat at his desk.

“Hey Cassie, how’s it going? Haven’t seen you around much.” Gabriel said walking over, having produced a lollipop out of God knows where.

“Fine. My thesis is progressing quite well, and my teaching course load is manageable. You?” Cas said, not looking up from his computer. In fact, he was a little behind thanks to this past weekend, but nothing major. Though there was no way he was going to share that with Gabriel, especially with someone else in the room.

Gabriel squinted his eyes and looked at Cas, but didn’t say anything. That is when Balthazar piped in. “All work and no play makes Cassie a dull boy.” He said leaning against Cas’s desk. _Yeah, definitely don’t like this guy,_ Cas thought.

“Thank you for your input, but I’m perfectly happy with my current situation.” Castiel looked at Balthazar. The smile he gave the blonde man didn’t reach his eyes.

“Well, if you’re ever in the market for a bit of fun…” Balthazar pulls a card out of his pocket and slides it across the desk. “Though I now must take me leave. Lunch with Dr. Morningstar. Toodles.”

Gabriel nods at Balthazar as he leaves. Once the door closes, Cas takes the card and puts it in the bin. “Interesting company you keep Gabriel.”

The theology student shrugged, “He actually followed me from Uris when I got coffee. He asked an awful lot about you, to be honest.”

“You were laughing when I entered.” Cas said, looking at Gabe.

The shorter man shrugged, “He told a joke about some freshman, it was funny. I don’t get a good vibe off him, though. I was curious to see what would happen with you two in the same room. Call it a social experiment.”

Cas sighed, “I’d appreciate it if you’d not involve me in your experiments, thank you.”

Gabriel just stared at Cas, “He wasn’t that bad, a bit smarmy, but--”

“Just because I am indifferent to gender, does not mean I will sleep with anyone Gabriel.” Cas said, starting to get irritated.

Gabriel finished the lollipop, and tossed the stick in the bin, “You look different.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Cas said, going back to his work.

“You’re more talkative, and I’ve seen someone make a pass at you before. You usually ignore it or it goes over your head. I’ve never seen you get… mad about it.” Gabe perches himself on the side of Cas’s desk. Cas just looks at him, his eyes narrowing.

“You met someone.” Cas’s eyes go wide for a second, but enough for Gabriel to notice. The shorter man grins. “Yes, that’s it. You did the horizontal mambo, or possibly got interrupted. And now you’re cranky because the floodgates have been opened and you have to be here instead of with them.” Cas just looks at Gabe without saying a thing. “It’s the cop. The hunky one that was in the office with you.”

Cas closes his eyes. “Gabriel…”

Gabe just grins and let’s out a loud and triumphant laugh. “Ha! I was right. Well, when do I get to properly meet Officer Sexy. Got to make sure he’s good enough for my Cassie.” Cas bangs his head on his desk in response.

 

* * *

 

Instead of dinner out, Dean cooked. It’s been a long time since he’s done it for more than just himself and he’s loving it. Cas knock on the door as he’s pulling the roasted vegetables out of the oven.

Dean walks over, an oven mitt still on his left hand, and finds Cas standing there, backpack casually slung over his shoulder. He gives Dean a small smile before he pulls the taller man into a heated kiss. Dean responds instantly, his hands groping Cas. Laughter starts bubbling from Cas’s lips.

“What?” Dean asks, his pupils dilated in lust. Cas just reaches around and holds up Dean’s mitten engulfed hand that was just greedily palming Cas’s ass. Dean goes red. “Uh, sorry about that.”

Cas just smiles and walks into the apartment. He drops his bag near the couch, “It smells good. What’s for dinner?”

Dean closes the door and stuffs the oven mitt in his back pocket. “Roasted chicken. I also made some brussel sprout hash with bacon and some roasted root vegetables.”

“Quite seasonal.” Cas said smiling.

Dean shrugged. “I guess.”

Cas steps into Dean’s space. “Hey.”

Dean wraps his arms around Cas. “Hey.” They kiss until the oven timer dings.

 

* * *

 

Dinner went over well. Cas brought two 750ml bottles of some beer that Dean had never heard of. He scoffed at the idea of a Pumpkin Stout, but Dean changed his tune quickly after the first sip.

They were now nestled on the couch with glasses of whiskey and apple pie. It was store bought since Dean ran out of time, but still damned good. They were nearly done with Star Wars: A New Hope. If Dean were honest with himself, he spent most of the movie watching Cas rather than the TV, but he didn’t care.

Once it finished, Cas tilted his head up and kissed Dean. “I liked it. Next one?” Dean cracked a smile.

“Sure, babe.”

Cas looked at him quizzically. “Babe?” Dean’s mouth ran dry. Shit. Too soon. Cas nodded, “I like that, honey.”

Dean made a face, his panic forgotten. “Honey?”

“I like honey, and bees are remarkable creatures, Dean. As are you.” Cas then leaned in and kissed Dean softly.

It’s only really been two dates, but Dean is gone. He can’t help it. He’s screwed, but hey, what a way to go. They start moving to a horizontal position on the couch, the next part of the trilogy all but forgotten.

Cas nips at Dean’s jaw, which is just incredible to Dean’s lust filled brain. His hands are down the back of Cas’s jeans when the living room lights flick on. Both men sit up startled to find Mary Winchester stood agape in Dean’s living room.

“I needed your crockpot so I could start tomorrow’s roast. Mine is already filled with oatmeal and the apples Sam brought back from upstate. I assumed that you’d be out with Charlie or Benny and might have some left over.” She says babbling slightly and trying not to smile.

“Mom.” Dean says, his throat dry and erection sufficiently deflated. He tries to fix his clothes, as Cas buttons his shirt. “Uh, yeah. It’s, um, in the side cabinet.”

“Dean, aren’t you going to introduce me to your… friend?” Mary says, her arms crossed over her housecoat.

Dean scratches the back of his neck. “Cas, this is my mom, Mary. Mom, this is Cas. Uh, Castiel Novak. My…um...” Dean stops mid sentence, they hadn’t had that discussion yet, so Dean didn’t know what to say. It’s only been two dates, I mean, not like Dean wouldn’t mind saying they were something, especially since they were exclusive. Dean wasn’t really-- His thought process gets interrupted when Cas speaks.

“Boyfriend.” Cas says, supplying the word. Cas knew Dean was open about his sexuality, and his hesitation was due to their choice in not labelling what they had. But they already knew how to read each other enough that it wasn’t a leap to say such a thing.

Mary just grins. “Well, though not the best moment to meet you, it’s still a pleasure. And, please call me Mary.” Dean gets up to get the crockpot for his mom, as Cas stands to shake her hand. She pulls him into a hug instead. She then looks over at Dean, “Glad you sorted things out.” Dean nearly drops the appliance at his mom’s words. She pulls back from Cas, “I expect you for Sunday dinner.” He nods, a bit confused by the whole situation. Mary then takes the crockpot from Dean, kisses him on the cheek and leaves.

It’s probably a full minute that they both stand there in silence. “So, that was awkward.”

Cas nods. “Your mother seems nice. I hope I wasn’t presump--”

Dean cuts him off with a wave. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

“You don’t mind that I told your mother I was your boyfriend after two dates? I would think that’s a bit forward or crazy, to be honest…” Cas tapers off, his eyes catching Dean’s. Dean walks towards Cas.

“I know what you mean.” And with that, Dean just kisses Cas. It’s tender, and they both feel like they are on the same page at that moment. Dean holds Cas’s face with both hands, and licks his bottom lip asking for entrance. Cas just pulls Dean closer and tilts his head for a better angle. They kiss for what seems like hours, just standing there holding one another until they break away to catch their breath. “‘Sides, I like having you all to myself anyway.” He gives Cas a wink.

Cas just rolls his eyes, and pushes Dean back towards the kitchen. “Get more pie and whiskey, I’ll start the next movie.”

Dean grins, “I knew I picked a good boyfriend.”

 

* * *

 

It’s late Sunday morning before they leave Dean’s apartment, but only because Dean runs out of milk. They aren’t due at Mary’s house until 5pm.

Dean, in his John Jay sweatpants, a faded Kansas shirt, and his leather jacket, has his arm around an equally hodgepodge-dressed Castiel, in borrowed jeans that hang low on his hips as well as Dean’s Batman hoodie as they make their way down the street. Dean laughs as Cas tells him, “It’s funnier in Enochian.” The two of them are in their own world that neither notice the African-American woman looking at them with a raised eyebrow as she exits the small grocery store on the corner.

“Well, this is unexpected.” She says.

Dean and Cas both turn at the voice.

“Dr. Moseley.” Cas says while Dean exclaimed “Mrs. M.” at the same time. They then look at one another.

“Never thought anything would catch me off guard, but you both won. And don’t worry, sugar, I won’t tell you momma.” She says with a wink and walks off.

They both stand there in shock. “How do you know her?” Cas finally managing to speak.

“She shares the building with my mom, been there since before I was born.” Dean says flatly. “You?”

“She’s my PhD supervisor.” Cas says.

They grab the milk and head back to Dean’s in slightly awkward silence.

Dean makes the coffee as they both settle on the couch together. Finally, Dean huffs, “Huh, small world.” There’s really nothing neither one of them can say after that.

 

* * *

 

It’s only a few blocks from Dean’s flat to Mary’s shared home. Cas wears his own jeans, but borrows the green cashmere jumper that Dean wore on their first date. To say Dean liked seeing Cas in his clothes was an understatement. They nearly didn’t make it out the door this time.

Dean uses his keys to let himself in. He can hear laughter and smell his mom’s meatloaf. He takes Cas’s hand and walks into the kitchen. They stopped, at Cas’s insistence, and grabbed both wine and flowers for his mom. Cas wanted to make a better first impression. Dean thought it was adorable.

Cas just felt that if he was really going to try, then he wasn’t going to go about this half assed. He hadn’t had family since Jimmy passed, and he was being pulled into Dean’s all at once. Mary’s hug the other day caught him off-guard, but he’ll be damned if he didn’t want to melt into that maternal warmth. It’s something Cas never had, and never knew he wanted, if he were honest with himself. The Winchesters continued to tear down every wall that Cas had carefully built over the years with a sledgehammer.

“Hey, Mom, we’re here. Smells awesome!” Dean called.

“We?” He heard Sam say over the top of Colt's head. Dean stopped dead in his tracks as they walked into the kitchen. Sam stood there with a beer in one hand, and Colt in the other. Sarah was grabbing plates from the nearby cabinet. His little brother didn’t even blink. He looked at his mom, who just smiled.

“Hi sweetheart.” She walked over and kissed Dean’s cheek. “Glad you could make it, Cas.” She kissed him as well on the cheek.

“Thank you for inviting me, Mary.” He said, still a little high from the maternal affection. He handed her the flowers and she just beamed taking them from Cas.

She smiled at Cas, then smelled the proffered bouquet. “Any time.” She turns to the other two people in the kitchen who are suspiciously quiet. “Well... introduce yourselves. I raised you better than to stand there and gawk, Samuel.”

Sam set down his beer and cleared his throat. He glanced at his wife, and stepped forward. “Hi, I’m Sam, Dean’s brother, and this is my wife Sarah. And this little guy is our son, Colt.” They shook hands.

“Castiel Novak.” He said, greeting both of the adults. He simply smiled at Colt and said a soft "hello". The baby just looked at him, blinking like his father, but smiled.

“My boyfriend, Sammy.” Dean said, a glint of happiness in his eyes.

“Don’t call me Sammy.” Sam said scowling at Dean, who just laughed.

Things seemed to settle after that. Cas got on well with Sarah, considering their shared interests. Mary smiled at the full table and the laughter that came with it. Sam leaned over to Dean and whispered, “So, Cas?”

Dean piled food on his fork. “Yeah?” He stiffened for fight reflexively. It’s not as if any of his family didn’t know that he was an ‘equal opportunity kind of guy’, but it had been years since he brought anyone home, and never so soon.

“He seems like a good guy, and you look… better. I’m happy for you.” Sam said with all sincerity.

Dean looked at his brother for a moment. Some silent signal went shared between them. A deeper conversation that Dean would proclaim ‘too chick flick’ to say allowed. So instead Dean just said, “Bitch.”

Sam smiled, “Jerk.” And they both went back to the meal and the larger conversation.

 

* * *

 

After dinner, most everyone retreats into Mary’s living room -- Colt already passed out from the excitement. Cas offers to help with the dishes, but Sam and Dean are tasked to care of things. Cas looks at the photos on the mantle. There is a wedding picture of Sam and Sarah, a photo of them with Colt and him on his own as well, various photos of Sam and Dean (together and separate), and ones with them and Mary. There are also a number of other photos, one of a gruff man, and two women who seem vaguely familiar to Cas. Curiously, there are no wedding photos of Mary’s just one of four people, that is slightly hidden. It’s of an obviously younger Mary, two boys, and a man that must be John Winchester, due to the resemblance.

Mary comes up behind Cas, “My husband, John. It was around Dean’s eighth birthday, we went to the Central Park Zoo to see the penguins. It was our last family outing. John did his best to help raise the boys, but he got caught up in things that weren’t… let’s just say, he wasn’t the best of role models.” Mary gave Cas a sad smile.

“Well, if it’s any consolation, Dean turned out well, and of what I know of Sam, I’d say the same for him.” Cas told Mary sincerely.

“Sam is all Dean’s doing, to be honest. I was too busy trying to work.” Mary admitted, hugging herself.

Cas stepped closer and put a hand on the older woman’s shoulder, “You’re a wonderful mother, and it shows with your children. You did what you had to for them. That’s what matters.”

She put her hand over his, “Well, your parents did a good job with you.”

Cas winced slightly, “My grandfather raised me. I never knew my parents.” At this admission, Mary pulled the man into a hug.

“Well, let’s see if we can change that.” Mary said so softly, that Cas wasn’t sure if he actually heard her correctly.

 

* * *

 

By the time Dean and Sam returned to the living room, Cas and the two women were sharing stories about the boys. “And then Dean put Sammy on the handlebars and took him to the hospital.”

“Mom, what lies are you spreading now?” Dean said with a hint of a smile as he sat down next to Cas.

“Nothing that bad, Dean. I haven’t pulled out the photo album yet.” Mary said with a cheshire grin.

“You wouldn’t.” Dean’s eyes went wide in slight fear.

“Well, I’ve never had the opportunity to do so before.” Everyone but Dean laughs. His head drops into his hands. Cas leans over, and rubs his boyfriend’s back.

“It’s okay, I’m sure you were adorable.” Dean just groans.

 

* * *

 

They head back to Dean’s apartment after dinner. Cas was readily accepted into the Winchester clan. Mary fussed over him a little more than normal, then again, Dean hadn’t brought anyone home since high school, so Mary saw it as a very big deal. Dean wasn’t there for any of the conversation about John, but between what Cas knew, and what Mary told him, he felt he knew Dean a bit better now.

“Your family is lovely.” Cas said crawling into Dean’s bed, clad in boxers and a purloined AC/DC shirt that has seen better days.

Dean was already under the covers in just a pair of boxer briefs. “Thanks, babe. Nice shirt by the way.”

Cas looks down, and pulls and the threadbare tee, “Borrowed it from a really hot guy. Don’t think I’m going to give it back, though.”

“Really now?” Dean said, his eyebrow raised.

“Yeah.” Cas leans over Dean and kisses him. It’s somewhere between passion and loving. Dean snakes his hand up into Cas’s hair and pulls him closer, never wanting to let go.

Dean rolls over on top of Cas, pressing the smaller man into the bed. Cas opens his legs in a V, letting Dean settle between them. Both men moan as the touch of their erections. Dean starts thrusting, the friction between the fabrics of their underwear separating them gets too much.

“Cas,” Dean breathes, “can I--” Dean doesn’t finish as Cas cuts him off with a kiss. Suddenly, Cas flips their positions, and he’s now straddling Dean. Dean blinks at the sudden change, and is about to remark, but he sees Cas reach for the drawer on the nightstand.

“I want you to fuck me Dean.” Cas says, leaning back over the green-eyed man, a condom in one hand, lube in the other.

Dean just grabs the back of Cas’s head and pulls him down into a hard kiss. He’s never been so happy to be on the same page with someone.

Quickly divesting themselves of their clothes, Cas is returns to his straddled position on top of Dean.

Their cocks brush one another, as both men groan. “Dean,” Cas breathes, “need you.”

Dean blinks himself back from the sublime feeling of Cas naked on top of him, and makes a move for the lube in Cas’s left hand.

“Move forward a bit, babe,” Dean says softly. Cas crawls up Dean’s body and stops on his lower chest. “Closer.” Dean says.

Cas looks down at Dean quizzically but still complies. He moans as Dean takes him into his mouth.

Cas makes a grab for the headboard as he gently fucks Dean’s mouth. Dean revels in the feeling of Cas in his mouth, but doesn't forget the task at hand. He flips open the cap and pours the lube over his fingers. He warms it up before spreading Cas’s cheeks with his left hand and running his left over Cas’s puckered hole.

Cas moans loudly as Dean multitasks, sucking on his cock and running a finger over his rim. The blue-eyed man shudders at the feeling as Dean slowly starts to dip a finger in and out.

Dean loves the feeling of Cas falling apart on top of him, as well as the taste of his boyfriend. He starts stretching Cas further, now with two fingers, and scissoring as he goes. Cas stops pumping into Dean’s mouth because he is dangerously close to cumming, and it definitely doesn’t help when Dean brushes over his prostate for the first time. “Dean!” Cas screams in pleasure.

Cas shifts slightly to pull out of his boyfriend’s mouth, and looks down at him. Dean look positively wrecked, his short hair askew and his pupils blown wide. His lips are covered in spit and swollen. Though Cas has three fingers now buried in his ass, he shifts down to kiss Dean full on.

Dean doesn’t stop fucking Cas with his fingers, but rather picks up the pace as his boyfriend does the same to his mouth, but using his tongue. They fiercely clawing at one another, Dean with his free hand on Cas’ ass, while Cas has one hand buried in Dean’s hair, the other is pulling the man impossibly closer.

Dean pulls back to get some air. “Need you.”

Cas moans again loudly as Dean now has four fingers inside him. “Yes, please, now.”

Dean slowly removes his fingers, but Cas is one step ahead of him, tearing the condom open with his teeth. It’s quite possibly one of the hottest things Dean has ever witnessed.

Cas rolls it over Dean’s erection, and adds some extra lube, while Dean just lays there, mouth agape in awe.

Cas catches Dean’s eyes and holds them as he sinks down on Dean’s cock. They both let out another moan of pleasure.

The pace is slow at first, while Cas rides Dean, the green-eyed man bucks up in time with the rolls of Cas’ hips. Dean stares at Cas and licks his lips. Cas’ hands are splayed on Dean’s chest and his head is tilted back, eyes closed. It’s a beautiful sight for Dean.

Soon enough, the rhythm starts to get faster. Neither are sure how long it’s been since they started - seconds, minutes, hours - it just feels so good. Dean grasps at Cas’s muscular thighs and starts to sit up. Cas opens his eyes and looks at Dean. They are scant inches apart as Dan wraps his arms around Cas. There lips finally close the distance, as both pick up the pace. No words have been spoken between the two of them since Dean started properly fucking Cas. The silence means too much.

Dean can feel the heat pooling in his belly, he knows he’s close. He reaches between them and grabs Cas’ neglected cock. Cas kisses Dean even harder. Three more rolls of Cas’ hips and Dean is cumming hard into his boyfriend. His groan is swallowed by Cas’ mouth as they continue to kiss. Dean doesn’t let up and two tugs later, Cas has painted the space between them.

They sit there, still holding one another and basking in the afterglow. The heated kisses have softened to become sweet and caring. Eventually Cas pulls back. He just looks at Dean and smiles.

A flutter goes through Dean’s heart. He knows at this moment, he’s definitely gone on the guy. For the first time in years, Dean Winchester is in love.

 

* * *

 

For some reason, as soon as Dean entered Cas something changed. The furious heat was still there, but Cas felt like there was something else. Neither tried to pick up the pace or need. He knew as soon as he tipped his head forward and caught Dean’s eyes, he was a goner. Fuck the consequences, Castiel Novak was in love for the first time in his life and he was happy.

 


	11. Chapter 11

Cas left with Dean early Monday morning. The former heading back to his brownstone, the latter to work. Neither man wanted to admit how nice it was to have someone to wake up with. Cas blinked his eyes open to see Dean inches away curled up to him. His hair was all over the place, and his face was relaxed, something Cas only saw glimpses of so far when Dean was awake. It was probably a bit creepy to watch him sleep, but Cas couldn’t help himself.

Dean snuffled and his eyes fluttered open. He just looked at Cas and chuckled. He pulled the blue-eyed man up close, and nuzzled into Cas’s neck sighing. The morning at Dean’s was mostly silent, with kisses, longing glances, and shared touches (as well as a shared shower). They both thought how all mornings should be like this, but didn’t share that particular thought with one another. Dean and Cas both knew that they let the weekend slip away in the haze of one another, and still have work to do within their respective spheres.

They walked to the 36th Street Station hand-in-hand. They didn’t speak much, as Dean is stood next to Cas on the crowded R train. Yes, Cas could have changed Atlantic Avenue for the 2 Train, but he didn’t move as the doors closed. Dean knew it too.

They were pressed up against one another, Dean in his suit and black overcoat, Cas in his jeans, jacket, and one of Dean’s t-shirts (“Motorhead, because Lemmy is/was/and always will be God,” Dean said when he handed it to Cas). Cas also had a scarf wrapped around his neck that he would duck his mouth under every once and awhile.

They didn’t say much as there were loads of people, but they stared at one another and traded soft smiles. Cas got pushed into Dean further at DeKalb, but neither grumbled. In fact, Dean slipped his arm around Cas’ waist and held him. Cas just ducked his head down, trying not to blush.

They were soon approaching Whitehall Station, much to their dismay. Dean leaned forward and whispered to Cas, “Friday.”

Cas nodded, and turned his head, giving Dean a quick brush of lips across his. They both smiled, and Dean stepped off taking one look back at Cas before the doors closed.

 

* * *

 

The following weeks pass in much the same fashion since their second meeting. They flirted through texts now, as well as relayed the daily mundane.

_Cas: Whomever decided that puffed peanut butter was a good idea, should be slapped._

_Dean: Huh?_

_Cas: Gabriel brought in some weird German snack food. I think I need to rinse my mouth out with pretty much anything at this point._

_Dean: I could give you a few ideas… ;)_

_Cas: True, but you suggested that your kitchen stool could hold us both last weekend, so I’m not fully inclined to trust you. My elbow still hurts._

_Dean: That was one time!_

They spend nearly every weekend in Dean’s bed, or shower, or on the couch, or kitchen floor. They christen everything but the balcony, as Dean would rather not be arrested for public indecency, no matter how much Cas begged or bribed.

Soon the weather began to turn in New York. The warmth had held out until mid-November, but not much longer. Thanksgiving was around the corner, which found Mary demanding on Cas’s presence.

Cas stayed over at Dean’s Wednesday night where they proceeded to not watch _The Lord of the Rings,_ as the hickeys all over Cas’s hip bones were a testament to that. The pair tucked up to Mary's around 10am, after Cas proceeded to return the previous night’s affection all over Dean’s chest.

Cas brought Mary flowers and another bottle of wine, despite the fact Dean said it was unnecessary. “It's polite, Dean, regardless of its necessity.” Cas had countered.

 

* * *

 

 

Over the years, Thanskgiving at the Winchester household had become quite the event. At first it was five, along with Missouri, then along came Bobby and the Harvelles, then Benny and his family, his orphaned neighbour Charlie joined last year after her mother passed, and Cas is only the most recent addition. Dean may have forgotten to mention all of this to his boyfriend, so it was quite a shock to see a small blonde woman running at Dean when they arrived.

"Hey Loser." Jo said hugging him. She pulled back and saw Cas standing there. "This must be the hot boyfriend. Jo Harvelle." She stuck out her hand.

Cas glanced at Dean, who was blushing in embarrassment. "Castiel Novak." She grinned at Cas, and he returned it with a smile.

"Everyone's in the kitchen. Benny, Sasquatch, and Mrs. M. aren't here yet, though." Jo said walking back towards the kitchen.

Cas leans his head towards Dean and speaks softly, "Just how many people are coming for dinner?"

Dean gives Cas a look of apologetic awkwardness, "Um, 15 including us."

Cas's face pales as they hear laughter and raised voices ahead.

Mary always insisted on doing the cooking alone, though Ellen never lets her. Both women, along with Jo and Charlie are in the kitchen. Bobby is most likely hiding in the living room with a beer, knowing him. All foour women turn and look at the new arrivals.

Mary smiles and walks over to them, as Cas hands her the gifts. "I would have brought more, had I known the size of the party." He says apologetically.

Mary pulls away from the hug, and looks at her son, "Really, Dean?"

"Slipped my mind?" He says unconvincingly, as he hugs his mom. She just gives him a look of  _yeah, right_ in return.

Both Ellen and Charlie introduce themselves, and Charlie (in a stage whisper) mentions to Jo how "dreamy" Cas is. Dean laughs as Cas blushes.

Despite the amount of people already gathered, Dean and Cas were summarily drafted upon their arrival. Sam and Sarah turned up twenty minutes later, with Colt who was dressed in a turkey onesie, and were set about with chores as well -- save the baby. Benny, his wife, and daughters soon follow.

Dean formally introduces Cas to both Benny (as well as his family) and Bobby. He was a bit worried about the latter, as Bobby remains Dean's pseudo-father figure, in addition to his superior. Thankfully, Cas charms everyone. Dean looks on with something akin to pride.

The sounds of Fleetwood Mac and The Beatles wafted through the kitchen, two of Mary’s favourite bands, as the five of them worked.

_Listen to the wind blow_

_Down comes the night_

_Run in the shadows_

_Damn your love_

_Damn your lies_

Halfway through making the brussels sprout hash, the phone rings.

Some are out back, playing with the children, and of those in the kitcehn, Cas was the only one without his hands covered in food, so he answered it. “Winchester residence?” Dean smiled at his formal greeting.

“Who is this?” A gruff voice came.

“It's the Winchester residence, may I ask who's calling?” Cas said.

“It's John, where's Mary?” Cas froze. John Winchester, the patriarch, who was currently serving the tale end of another prison sentence. The man Dean tried his damnedest not to be. The lacking father figure.

“Hold please.” Cas looked to Dean, then Mary. “Mary, it's John.” Everyone in the kitchen froze.

Mary quickly cleaned her hands off and took the phone from Cas. She retreated from the living room, but everyone in the kitchen was silent, the mood decidedly shifted.

“John.” Mary said sitting down.

“Who the Hell was that?” He asked, a bit angrily.

“That was Cas. Dean’s boyfriend.” Mary said evenly. John never really cared about his eldest son’s sexuality. He might have been a shit role model, but he wasn't the biggest asshole on the planet.

“Oh.” He said, his tone changed. “Good guy?” Above all else, despite his criminal exploits, John still cared about his family. They came first.

“Yes, I've never seen him happier.” Mary said with a soft smile.

“Good.” John paused. “I just…” He trailed off, Mary knew her husband well enough to know what he was going to say next.

“I know.” Mary said. “How's everything?”

“Good. I'm up for parole next month.” John said.

“John--” Mary started.

“I know, and this time I won't mess it up. I've missed too much. I've already screwed up so much, can't do that to you again. Or the boys.” John said earnestly.

Mary started to tear up a bit. She'd spent the better part of three decades hoping for those words. John had said it before, but something made her actually believe it this time round. “Thank you, John.”

 

* * *

 

John had apparently bribed the guard enough to get a little longer on the phone. It was passed around for the next five minutes to everyone before he hung up. Sam was standoffish, but spoke to his father. John asked after Sarah, and they said a quick hello, and even put Colt on the phone who tried to eat it. Bobby takes a minute as well, as despite their opposing professions, they are still friends. The phone then was given to Dean. Everyone left the room, save for Cas. He stood across the room and looked at Dean while he spoke.

“Hey, Dad.” Dean said softly.

“Hey, son. How’s it going? I hear you gotta a fella now.” John said, trying to be upbeat.

 Dean couldn’t help but scoff. “‘Fella?’ Yeah, yeah, Dad. I got someone. His name is Cas, short for Castiel.”

“Interesting name.” John said. Dean looked up at Cas and smiled. They spoke for a bit longer, then the phone was handed to Cas for a brief hello.

Cas had never met John Winchester, though he knows of him from various sources, including his grandfather. John was a good guy, just fell in with the wrong crowd. He doesn’t think that Jimmy and John actually ever met or did business, but Jimmy knew things a lot of other people didn’t.

After they hung up, everyone was quiet. They finished cooking to the sound of Ruth Brown wafting through the house. Missouri came over soon after the turkey was pulled out of the oven, with pie and hand. Dean smiled.

With enough food to feed a small army (which this was), and everyone crammed around the extendable table, dinner was a hit. Dean seemed to eat his weight in food, while Cas just smiled softly enjoying the familial atmosphere. Laughter, hand turkey place-mats, and a few rounds of celebrity filled the hours in addition to the massive feast. Missouri just watches Dean and Cas, and nods knowingly to Mary, who just smiles.

Away from the relationship, Cas has been plodding along with his thesis, which Missouri asks about at dinner. Sam and Dean both make comments, as does Sarah. Benny and Bobby even add their two cents. They find his work pretty fascinating, well, for esoteric knowledge of New York City history. Cas has taken to leaving some of his work at Dean’s, and tends to keep a close eye on Dean’s own work that he leaves around the apartment. Calling it snooping, though wholly accurate, is not the word Cas uses. Being cautious, is what he tells himself. There hasn't been any news of any other familiar paintings showing up, thankfully. Cas starts to feel as if it were a fluke.

That night, they take leftovers, and most of the pie (as is Dean's tradition), and head back to Dean’s. Life was good for both of them, especially Dean, who enjoyed eating pie off of a naked Cas later that night. 

This was the calm before the storm, at least, that’s what they usually call it.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the lateness of this chapter, but I got sidetracked. Enjoy more plot development and smut.

“Holy shit.” Dean says looking at the piles of paintings as the uniformed officers mill about.

“I’d say so, brutha.” Benny says, scratching the side of his jaw.

The policed received an anonymous tip that led them to a warehouse in Red Hook, where they now stood. In front of them were a few pieces of art that hadn’t been in seen in who know how long. Caravaggio, Manet, Nolde, Vermeer, Degas, Rembrandt -- the list goes on. It was incredible.

They were found haphazardly laying about in what was once the New York Port Authority Grain Terminal, which has sat pretty much abandoned since about 1965. It has slowly crumbled over the years, despite the re-invigoration of the area. Even Dean can admit he’s been to IKEA once or twice. Regardless, what are a bunch of priceless paintings doing in here?

Dean couldn’t get over how all these pieces were turning up lately. Yes, they were all fakes so far, but this was getting ridiculous. He didn’t know what was going on, but he did know that no matter the outcome of their authenticity, there was going to be some hoopla, of the federal variety. Bobby could only hold them back so long, and time had just run out.

 

* * *

 

Victor Henrikson was not a happy man. As a Special Agent for the FBI for more than a decade, he’s seen it all and dealt with more shit than you can imagine. He was then transferred to the Art Crime Team. Since then, he’s had enough run-ins with Dean Winchester to last a lifetime. Dean felt exactly the same way when the African American man walked into his cramped office.

“Winchester. What the fuck?” He said crossing his arms.

Dean didn’t bother looking up from the report in front of him. “Hello to you too, Vicky.”

Victor lips curled as if he sucked on a lemon. Benny sighed and stood up to greet the fed. “Good to see you, Vic.” For some reason, there was a grudging respect between Benny and Victor, or well, enough of a level of toleration that they weren’t outright hostile. They shook hands.

“My new partner, Rudy Moloney.” A somewhat thin man, with a beard, mustache, and clear blue eyes steps forward with a nod. “He’s a transfer from white collar.”

“Nice to meet you, Benjamin LaFitte. That little ball of sunshine of there is Dean Winchester.” Rudy just nodded, undoubtedly had hear all about Dean from Victor.

“So you thought you were just going to keep this under wraps? Considering the piss-poor management and leaks to the press, I thought you might have just been getting sloppy, then I remembered that you’re your father’s son.” Victor said. Dean ground his teeth, barely holding back a snarl, even Benny was ready to rip the fed’s head off. Thankfully, Bobby chose that moment to wander in.

“Henrikson, Moloney - glad you made it. Why don’t you meet us in the conference room, the boys here will get you up to speed.” The tension was thicker than molasses, and Bobby knew that. Henrikson might of disliked Dean, but he wasn’t stupid enough to disobey Bobby. He just nodded and left the small office.

“Bobby.” Dean managed.

“Yes, he’s an ass, but I had no choice.” The older man said, as it could offer any comfort.

Benny clasped his hand over Dean’s shoulder. “Pie from Blue Stove on me afterwards.”

“Bacon Apple Cheddar.” Dean said getting up.

“Of course.” Benny said, giving Dean a genuine smile. The green eyed man just sighed, and grabbed the files they’d need. This was going to suck.

 

* * *

 

Things sucking was an understatement. Five hours bringing Victor and his partner up to speed. Dean wanted to bangs his head against the table until bloody, at this point. Even the pie that Benny brought back for lunch didn’t help. _God bless that man for going all the way to Brooklyn and back so quickly_ , Dean thought at the time.

Just as they were wrapping up, Dean’s phone vibrated.

_Cas: Busy?_

Dean’s shoulders relaxed. Cas always made things better, even unconsciously.

_Dean: No, but just finished the meeting from Hell._

There was a long pause as the dots kept moving, as if Cas were typing, deleting, and retyping. Dean hadn’t even noticed the room starting to clear.

_Cas: Well, care to grab dinner and head to mine?_

Dead stared at his phone slack-jawed. Dean had not so subtly insisted that he’d like to see where Cas lived, but was rebuffed every time. He had been making up fantastical locations where Cas lived: a tree house, Heaven, the storeroom of a Gas-n-Sip, a secret underground bunker. It had gotten to the point where Cas rolled his eyes at the endless series of ridiculous locations. If anything, Charlie will be glad from the night off of "ridiculously loud sex noises, I mean come on Dean!" as she is want to say.

Dean: Sounds perfect.

 

* * *

 

To say Cas was apprehensive was an understatement. No one had ever been inside the brownstone except him and Jimmy. It was their, then Cas’s sanctuary. To let Dean in meant something, it meant a lot. Somehow Dean had worked his way past every single one of Cas’s barriers, and burrowed in further than anyone ever had. So here he was, walking down the street, hand-in-hand with Dean. They had grabbed some food from Streetbird Rotisserie and made their way to the brownstone.

“It’s nice here. Quiet.” Dean mused as they approached the stoop.

Cas nodded, pulling out his keys. “I like it that way.”

Dean suddenly crowded behind the shorter man, “Not always, though.” He breathed into Cas’s ear, which sent a shiver through both of them.

“Dean.” Cas said softly. He knew what Dean was doing. Dean could tell Cas was nervous, and so he was distracting him with one of his favourite things: Dean.

No one but Cas has stepped into this building since Jimmy died. It was a massive step for him on many levels, but Dean asked. After so many times, and how he felt about the man, Cas couldn’t say no. It was hard, but if Cas wanted to stay with Dean, which he desperately did, he’d have to let him in; and not just into the brownstone, but everything. Cas took a breath and unlocked the door.

They stood there for a moment, the keys not moving towards the lock, and just pressed into one another. The feeling was like home and electric at the same time. Neither wanted to move, but it was cold out. A dog barked in the distance breaking their revelry, and Cas opened the door.

The building from the outside was unassuming. Dean had an idea that Cas had money or an inheritance or something, but a whole brownstone, it was impressive. He followed his boyfriend into the dark foyer.

Cas flicked on the lights and Dean saw emptiness. There was a coat rack and console table near the front door, as well as a wall mounted mirror, but that was it. It was a stark contrast to Castiel’s office space, and spoke volumes about the man.

He still hadn’t filled the building in the intervening months and years. It was still mostly empty.

Cas hung his coat on the rack, as Dean shucked his own. Cas took it as the green-eyed man looked around. Cas flicked on the entryway lights, and headed towards the kitchen. Dean was hot on his tail, but moved slower.

“Cas.” Dean said a little bit quizzically.

“Yes, Dean?” Cas was already unpacking the food onto plates.

“Were you robbed?” Dean finally makes it to the kitchen.

Cas looks up at him, his head titled to the side. “No.”

“Then where’s your stuff?” Dean asked leaning on the counter, his arms crossed.

“I haven’t much Dean, and I’ve no need to fill the place with clutter. I keep the house because it’s where I grew up for the most part. I have no desire or need to sell it. So, I have what’s necessary, and keep the rest as is.” Cas explained plainly.

“Huh.” Dean said, not really being able to formulate a more articulate response.

 

* * *

 

Cas gave him a tour of the building. Room after room remained empty, save for the kitchen and master bathroom. The only real sign of life was Cas’s bedroom. A kingsized bed sat in the middle of the room with long curtains dusting the floors. A clothing rack and dresser, as well as a leather club chair comprised the rest of the room. The thing that caught Dean’s eye though, hung on the wall.

Dean just stood and stared at it. It was stunning. “Is that a print?” He stepped closer.

“No, it’s a reproduction.” Cas said watching Dean.

“It’s amazing.” Dean said taking a step closer.

“Thank you.” Cas said, with a small smile.

Dean stopped looking at the signature in the corner. He recognised the messy scrawl, and looked back at Cas. “Wait, you painted this?” Cas nodded. Dean stood there in awe, not only of the work in front of him, but in the man behind him. “Cas, this is incredible. How?”

Castiel shrugged. “I started painting at a young age, and I had a skilled teacher. My grandfather was a master at the craft.” Cas thought of the times that he and Jimmy would sit side by side and paint for hours. “It was a paint by numbers that my grandfather and I did together. He was a great artist, but never really applied himself in that respect. He worked to hard and too much to really develop his own work. I remember seeing this in a museum with him, and we pretty much just got a copy of it, and painted it together. It’s the only thing of his, besides this house that I kept.” Cas knew he was only slightly lying to Dean, he couldn’t tell him the whole truth, not yet. “He was more interested in learning to emulate than work on his own stuff. There are a few original sketches of his, but for the most part, it was just copies. I was kind of the same way, I started getting frustrated when I tried to be original, and my interests changed. I moved on from art after he died. I just couldn’t take the reminder, so I just stuck with history.”

Dean nodded. “This is stunning, though. If I didn’t know better, I would think it were the real thing, Cas.”

Cas just smirked. “Well, then you’d have to arrest me, wouldn’t you Detective.” Dean turned and stalked closer to Cas.

“You just want me to use my handcuffs, don’t you Mr. Novak.” They were less than an inch apart and the space between them thrummed with energy.

Cas licked his lips and glanced at Dean’s before he looked back at the green eyes in front of him. “Maybe.”

Dean closed the distance almost violently, capturing Cas’s lips harshly.

Cas moaned into the movement, and grabbed Dean, one hand to his hair, tugging slightly, the other to his left shoulder, pulling him closer. The back of Cas’s knees collided with the bed as they tipped over on it.

Cas’s tongue languishes on Dean's ear as his hands roam over the police officer's body. “Cas,” he moans, “please.”

That was all Cas needed. His hands roamed Dean’s body, removing clothing as he went. Kisses became heated, teeth knocking, and skin getting nipped. There was fire and heat in every touch.

Dean was soon naked beneath a fully clothed Cas. “Not fair.” Dean growled, and started tearing at Cas’s own clothes. Not long after, their bodies were flush together, grinding erections and sharing open mouthed kisses.

“Inside. Need you.” Dean moaned. Cas shivered at the words. He reached for the lube in the nearby nightstand. After Thanksgiving, they both finally got tested. They hadn’t tried anything without protection yet, but Cas didn’t have any condoms, so this would be a first.

“Dean, I don’t have…” Cas tailed off, the lube in his hand.

Dean managed to focus enough on Cas, then glanced at his hands. “That’s fine.” He then recaptured Cas’s plush lips. Dean had never had sex unprotected, but it was okay. It was okay because it was Cas.

Cas pulled his lips from Dean’s and started down the larger man’s body. Sucking and nipping at all the places that made Dean moan and sigh. He avoided his cock, sans for a soft kiss at it’s base, and continued downward.

Dean lifted his knees as Cas’s tongue dipped inside. Soft at first, but soon the movement was harsh and deliberate. Dean panted and groaned, “Cas, more. Please. Need you.”

Fingers soon joined Cas’s clever tongue, which made Dean nearly come untouched. After what seemed like forever, but not long enough, Cas pulled away and hovered over Dean. They stared at one another, as Dean felt the blunt head of Cas’s cock enter him. He must have slathered it at some point, due to how easily he slipped in.

Cas and Dean sighed once the former was fully seated. They had gone fast and slow before, frantic and caring, various positions, but nothing compared to this. Cas rocked into Dean at a steady pace, hitting the latter’s prostate every few thrusts.

The only words spoken were inaudible, save for their names. They kisses and buried their faces in one another’s necks. It must have gone on for close to twenty minutes (maybe longer) of them getting lost in one another before it got too much. Cas slowly picked up the pace as he began to slam into Dean. He didn’t move from the close proximity he had, but instead gripped Dean closer and tighter.

“Fuck. Cas, yes, baby. Please. I need you. Yes. Yes. Yes. Fuck.” Dean moaned, as his dick squeezed between them providing friction. Cas snaked a hand down and grabbed Dean’s length, which prompted the green-eyed man to come instantly. He nearly screamed his orgasm, and Cas followed a few thrusts after, helping him ride it out.

Once they calmed their racing hearts, Cas pulled out to a squelching sound. Dean couldn’t help but laugh. Cas grimaced, but then tilted his head. “Hmm, I might have to try that.”

“Try what? Bottoming bareback?” Dean said, a mischievous glint in his eye. His dick twitched with tired interest.

“That and this.” Cas moved back down between Dean’s legs, and…

“Holy fuck!” Dean’s eyes went wide as Cas lapped up the semen out of Dean’s abused whole. This was definitely new, and Dean was definitely not arguing with it. Not a kink that he even imagined having, but when it came to Cas, it seemed as if all bets were off.

Cas started moving away, seemingly finished, and proceeded to lick up the cooling mess on Dean’s stomach. “Fuck, Cas. That’s just--”

Cas just shrugged. “It’s not something I’d done previously, but seemed easier and possibly more enjoyable than getting a washcloth.” He ducked down and finished cleaning Dean off.

Dean let out a bark of laughter, and pulled Cas to his lips, tasting them both on Cas’s tongue. He pulled back, and smiled. “I can also think of another thing it does.” Dean bucked his hips upward, making Cas gasp. Dean was well on his way to being hard again, and surprisingly, so was Cas.

“Round two?” Dean asked, quirking his eyebrow. Cas growled and lunged forward.

 

* * *

 

When they woke, Cas got up first. He stood for a moment, watching Dean sleep. He was beautiful. The streetlamps from outside glinting off his naked body, the sheets just covering the freshly bruised hips. He smiled at the memory of their creation. “Round two” was definitely one of his favourite phrases from this point forward.

“Cas, you know it’s creepy when you watch me sleep.” Dean mumbled, peaking open just one of his eyes, a small smile spread across his lips.

“My apologies.” Cas said, a grin growing on his face.

Dean just laughed and sat up. “Bullshit.” He let the sheet drop full and stood up in Cas’s space. They stared at one another for a moment, scant centimeters between them. Cas could feel the warmth of Dean’s breath over his lips.

Green eyes flicked between blue ones. Then Dean spoke, it was barely a whisper. It was as if the words were too precious and kept too close to be allowed to escape.

“I love you.”

Cas’s breath hitched. No one, not even Jimmy had ever told him those words in that order. The moment stretched, but the feeling between the two didn’t change. Dean just waited, not really expecting a reply, but hoping against hope for one… well, a positive one.

Cas’s lip quivered, but just as softly, he responded. “I love you, too.”

Dean’s face lit up, he grabbed Cas and pulled him in for a fierce hug. Cas’s eyes closed as tears threatened to fall. The moment was broken by a sudden sound… Dean’s stomach.

Cas started to shake with laughter. “Guess we never got to dinner.”

Dean murmured a soft “shut up”, and held on tighter.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I edited a bit here and there - as well as added some (mostly during the Thanksgiving Dinner). I won't have a new chapter up for about a week or so. I've got the ending and a huge chunk leading up to it done. Now I just have to write the whole bit to get there! ;)

“Frick Picked Clean.” The headline of the New York Times reads. Cas stares at it in shock. This was not happening.

_No. No. NO. NONONONONONONONO!!!_

He read through the article twice, and his expression darkened. No fingerprints, the cameras were tampered with, and no alarms were tripped. The guards were found piled up and passed out with a non-lethal sedative, and no memory of what happened. The article said the police had no suspects and no leads.

This is why he couldn't get a hold of Dean yesterday. _Fuck!_

Cas knew that was a lie, though. Even if he didn’t know Dean was working on the case, and smarter than most, and he'd figure it out. What Dean didn't know was that this brought back memories and stories that hit so very close to home for the blue eyed man. The heist was like those of Dmitri Krushnic that it’s too much for Cas to stand.

He crumbled the paper and stood up. He didn’t have a choice anymore. This was definitely one of the last things Cas ever wanted to do, and once he did, there was no going back. He closed he eyes, and took a breath. No good would come of this, but it's not like good things ever last. He grabbed his trench coat and ran out the door into the fire.

 

* * *

 

The door was painted black and most wouldn't even know it was there. Cas did though. He knocked twice and knows he's being watched, because it's the only reason that the door unlocks and opens.

A large man stands blocking his way. Cas lifts his hands, knowing what's next. He gets patted down for weapons without ceremony. Once the guard is satisfied, he defends stone steps.

Fergus Crowley was always a lover of dramatics. He was good with the flash as well as getting the job done. It was a useful combination to many. Jimmy never liked him, but saw his value. Cas agreed with his grandfather’s sentiments.

A woman with stringy blonde hair met him at the bottom of the staircase. She wore a white summer dress, which was decidedly out of season. “This way,” is all she said, and started down a dark corridor.

Music with a heavy base was pumping from somewhere. Doors lined the corridor, until they reached one at the very end.

The woman in white didn't knock and simply opened it, not bothering to see if Cas followed, which he did.

The room was decorated like a medieval castle. Cas did his best not to roll his eyes at the decor. Though the painting just to his left of Crowley in some sort of uniform made him do a double take.

“Castiel Novak, as I live and breathe.” He said in his scratch Scottish brogue.

“We had an agreement.” Cas said, cutting all niceties.

“Ah, I see you got my message.” The short man said smiling from his seated position on the blood red leather sofa.

Cas took a moment and thought back to all the paintings that had been recovered already. Going over the catalogue that Dean had compiled. Crowley sat sipping his drink.

“Purgatory.” Cas said in realization.

“Bingo.” He said with a smile.

“It doesn't exist, Crowley. It was just a story Jimmy cooked up.” Cas said dismissively. Jimmy once told stories of all the art that was stolen by the Nazis was never destroyed, instead it was boxed up and housed in a holding area. Jimmy nicknamed it Purgatory. It was meant to be sent to Argentina with the last of the fleeing SS officers, but it got waylaid in New York City by the mafia. It was boosted from the dockyards by unknowing hoods. They carted it off one night not knowing what they’d stolen. A few pieces turned up here and there, but nothing significant. Jimmy knew what was on the boat, though, or had a rough idea. Basically, everything he never got to steal.

Jimmy stole for purpose -- to feed himself. It started when he was dumped by the Red Army early on after the the invasion on the Eastern Front during the German offensive entitled Operation Barbarossa. Jimmy was only a sixteen year old kid, having falsified his birth certificate. It was his first act of forgery. To get by, he learned to steal, charm, and forge documents. He made his way through Europe, having no one left back in the Motherland. His entire family had perished in the Soviet famine in the early 1930s when he was at the tender age of eight. He was in and out of orphanages, until World War II began. He reasoned that anything was better than his current state. So he joined up.

When he made it to Paris, he met a man named Michael who taught him about art, language, and everything else. The man had lost his entire family to the Nazis, and was only kept around due to his knowledge, as he was a curator for the Nazi hoard in Paris. Over the next four years, Jimmy learned everything and then some. Michael also taught him how to create and copy the masters.

Michael was the one who packed up everything that was to be sent to Argentina, but he was murdered upon completion of the task by SS officers. Jimmy fled. He bummed around Europe, stealing and forging - mostly from Nazi sympathizers. He also had a knack for getting in and out of East Berlin. Somewhere along the line, he met a girl, Amelia, and they fell in love. This is when Jimmy Novak was truly born, as before this, he went by a various number of aliases and even once, his real name: Dmitri Krushnic.

Amelia was an American, and they settled in Pontiac, Illinois where Jimmy took up a mundane profession, selling ad time for AM radio. He still painted and copied pieces, but stopped stealing. Jimmy and Amelia had a child, Claire. Sadly, Amelia perished in childbirth. Jimmy couldn’t stay in Illinois any longer, the pain too great. So he took Claire and left.

From there, Jimmy slipped back into old habits, despite having to care for a newborn. He returned to Europe, as it was easier in a region where they were still recovering from war. He found an old friend of Michael’s, Joshua Jardinier, living in Lille, near the Belgian border. He left his daughter with him periodically. He would return to spend time with her, but seeing her was painful, since she looked so much like Amelia. Eventually, Jimmy just sent cards, letters, and gifts.

One day, Jimmy returned to Lille and found Joshua sitting with a little boy. He was the spitting image of the old thief in his younger days. It was Claire’s son, Castiel. Jimmy had been gone so long that Claire had grown up and married. Sadly, an accident befell the couple on a romantic weekend trip to Amsterdam, and they both died. Castiel was left in Joshua’s care until Jimmy saw him. So much pain for such a young child, Jimmy took it upon himself to do what he should have done in the first place - take care of his family.

He took the boy to New York City, having bought a brownstone there in the 1960s, it was one of the many properties Jimmy owned in his life. It was there, as well as a few vacation spots, that he raised Castiel. He taught him everything he knew, but never wanted to boy involved in the life. They spent most of their time together, so Castiel was not overly well versed in proper social skills, yet his acting skills were impeccable.

Castiel, though, knew none of this. Jimmy never spoke of his familial past. All Castiel knew is that Jimmy saw him as the most important person in his world, and did everything he could to do right by the boy up until his death. It was his heart that eventually gave out.

Crowley stood up and walked towards the younger man. “I thought so too, but I was given some very convincing evidence that I could hardly ignore.”

“What evidence? And by whom?” Cas demanded.

“No no no. Angels don't get to play.” Castiel scowled at the use of nickname. It wasn't his to use. It never was. It was only because he knew the origin of Cas’s name.

“Crowley.” Cas said with a menacing edge. Both men knew Cas could deliver on the physical threat, but then unseen guards would end his life. They both also knew that Crowley would be dead before Cas regardless.

“Fine. Some information was brought to my attention, and I needed you to verify it. I knew you'd left once poor old grandpappy kicked it, so I let a work or two see sunlight.”

“They weren't real, though.”

“Ah, but only you, I, and a certain silent partner know that. Well, I'm sure the police do as well, but that's beside the point.”

“What partner?”

“None of your business.”

“You made a deal with Jimmy.”

“Yes I did, and I've not broken it. Bad for business and all. Suffice to say, I bent it slightly, just to get you here. Just take a look at one thing and you're free to go and nothing else will turn up. Scouts honor.”

“You were never a scout.”

“Thieves honor then.”

Cas side-eyed the Scotsman, but agreed. It was the best way to protect himself and ultimately Dean as well.

“And don't go talking to that underwear model boyfriend of yours either.”

 _Fuck._ Cas thought. “You had a deal with Jimmy. That deal still stands between us.” Cas managed to say evenly despite the fact he was freaking out.

“Of course.” Crowley said with a devilish smile.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the massive wait on this chapter. I'll post more soon. I have most of the rest finished. I've to start plotting out my DCBB for this year, so I want to finish this up for y'all first.

 

Cas was not happy. This was, for the most part, an understatement. He followed Crowley into an interior office. It was littered with maps, photos, and various other deeds and documents. Though it looked somewhat chaotic, everything was in order. Crowley was nothing if not efficient.

 

Cas looked over everything, while Crowley watched and remained silent. It was about 20 minutes before either spoke.

 

“What was the one thing you wanted to show me?” Cas finally said, turning to the shorter man.

 

Crowley’s eyebrow cocked and he smiled. “Thought you’d never ask.” He walked over to an old school safe, and opened it without even bothering to unlock it. There was no one here who would dare look in there without permission, they were all to scared of Crowley’s reputation and the retribution that would surely follow.

 

He pulled out a small notebook, and handed it over to Cas. It was leather-bound and worn, but Cas recognised it nonetheless.

 

“Where did you find this?” It was one of Jimmy’s journals. Cas had locked all them up in a safe beneath the floorboards of the brownstone.

 

“He bequeathed it to me.” Cas looked at him, his expression stormy. “I have never lied to you Castiel, and I don’t intend to start now. Look at the first page.”

 

Cas opened it up, and there it was in Jimmy’s handwriting. _For Crowley._  

 

Cas leafed through it. Inside there were maps, notes, and, finally, an entire page in code. Cas smiled. He knew what this was.

 

“I’ve never been able to figure it out. Everything else has pointed me in the direction of Purgatory, but everything stops at that last page. You wouldn’t happen to know the cypher?” Crowley said, and to anyone else it would sound snarky. Cas knew better, he knew how desperate Crowley was.

 

“Why do you want to find Purgatory? Why now?” Cas asked.

 

Crowley sighed. “Fair question.”

 

“And once you answer it, I will help you.”

 

Crowley looked positively jovial, but there was something else, it looked like relief. “My son Gavin. He angered the wrong people. Not many knew our relation, unfortunately for him and myself, his kidnappers did.”

 

Castiel nodded. He knew that family meant a lot to Crowley, despite what most would believe of him. He cared about his son, even if they rarely spoke.

 

“And they want Purgatory.” 

 

“Yes.” Crowley said quietly.

 

“How did they even know you had an inkling of it?” Cas asked. It was an urban legend to be sure, but very few knew it actually existed, and hardly were still alive.

 

“That I do not know, but I have every intention of finding out and dealing with those parties swiftly.” Crowley said with clear malice.

 

They both lapsed into silence. “It’s a variation on the Taman Shud, or at least the idea is copied. Your key is first printing of The Brothers Karamazov in English and the day of my birth as your first substitution. Everything follows with standard English, so the twentieth letter on the eighth page, then everything moves over accordingly. Do you understand? It’s a simple substitution.”

 

Crowley looked at him, “Wait, why Tolstoy?”

 

“The mystery of existence lies not in just staying alive, but in finding something to live for.” Cas said simply.

 

A smile crept along Crowley’s face and he laughed.

 

* * *

 

It’s nine am when they show up. Dean, Benny, a small contingent of police, and the Feds. After the Frick, the shit hit the fan. Everyone wanted to know what the fuck was going on. Loads of tips came in, but one had caught Dean’s eye more than any other. It was three words faxed, yes faxed, to them. Dean didn’t even know that they still had a working fax in the department. It said, “Crowley. Purgatory. Thursday.”

 

Now there was absolutely no way this could be ignored. Vice had a few undercover cops tracking Crowley’s movements for other less-than-reputable reasons, but this was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

 

So, at an early morning on (concidently or not) Thursday morning, a raid was planned for one of Crowley’s establishments. It was behind an unmarked black door that few knew about.

 

Plans for the building were consulted but mostly useless, as any change in construction were most likely not reported to the city. This was a bad idea, everyone knew it, but Victor, who was put in charge, didn’t give a rat’s ass.

 

After what background they had, as well as thermal scans (which were mostly useless), they stormed the building.

 

That’s when things went from bad to worse.

 

SWAT entered first, from every entrance/exit they knew of, the Feds, Dean, and Benny followed. They were prepared for a fight, but nothing prepared them for what happened.

 

* * *

 

Flashbangs went off first, as officers rushed through the smoke. They chose to hit the club early in the day, hoping to lessen any possible casualties. There were guards, club workers, and patrons running all over the place screaming. Trying to sort out who was who was a bit more difficult, but gunfire was exchanged. Victor led the wave, consisting of his parter, Dean, and Benny, directly after the SWAT team’s front line.

 

They went deeper into the club as people were pulled out of rooms. They reached what was Crowley’s inner sanctum, it was empty. There was though, a door to the side left ajar. Rudy stepped toward it. It was the same room that Cas and Crowley stood in not that long ago, amongst the research looking for Purgatory. 

 

Victor only had a split second to look at his partner before it happened. Rudy went by the book when he approached the door. What he didn’t see or know, was that the second the door moved, the room was set to explode.

 

“RUDY!” The door blasted open, and the three remaining men were blown back and hit the deck from the force. Glass, papers, and fire rained down, and then everything went black.


	15. Chapter 15

Dean, Benny, and Vic are at the bar in The Roadhouse in the middle of the afternoon. After the shit the three of them went through, and Henrikson’s partner now in the hospital, the man deserved a beer and a white flag. It’s true Dean never liked the guy, but he was still a brother in arms… kinda.

After the smoke cleared, the four men were pulled out of the rubble by firefighters and paramedics. The three sat at the bar were just scraped up at worst. Rudy, though, surgery and intensive care. Dean and Benny dragged him out of there, because it wasn’t going to do any good. They knew better.

Ellen places a beer in front of each man. They are silent for a while as they drink. Vic sighs. “I just can’t believe it.”

Benny nods while Dean sips his beer. “I feel ya, brutha.” Dean quirks his lips at the nickname, looks like Benny has let bygones be bygones.

“Who knew that things could get so exciting in the world of art crimes.” Dean finally says deadpanned.

“My job is boring, it’s frustrating. You work three years for one break, and then maybe you can save ... a few pieces. Maybe. That’s the payoff. I’ve been busting my ass for 15 years to nail a handful of guys and all this while, there’s something off in the corner so big. So yeah… sign me up for that big, frosty mug of wasting my damn life.” Vic says more resigned than angry.

Dean and Benny don’t say anything as Vic orders a double whiskey. They don’t say anything when he downs it in one go. Being a Fed or a cop isn’t exactly a recipe for a healthy life, but being in a somewhat non-confrontational division of both law enforcement bureaus… well, that should count for something.

Vic was becoming bitter, and after so many years, Dean was starting to understand where he was coming from. This case was all kinds of fucked up. When they thought they had a lead, it dissolved. There was barely anything to grasp anymore.

Crowley was involved now. That they knew for sure despite being able to prove it in a court of law. Dean sighed and took another sip of his beer. Crowley had someone, a thief or a forger, someone who knew their shit. Someone who was like a freaking ghost. He just didn’t know who. Why else would he destroy everything?

It niggled at the back of Dean’s brain, and he couldn’t shake it. There was something familiar about all of this, he just didn’t know what.

Vic had already taken off, licking his wounds and crawling back to his hotel. Benny did the same, but went home to Andrea.

Dean texted Cas.

_Dean: I need you._

_Cas: Are you okay? Where are you? What happened?_

_Dean: Roadhouse. I’m okay, I just…._

Dean knew that it sounded chick-flick, but he didn’t care. He was well and truly gone on the guy and needed the comfort that the man would bring. He needed his angel.

_Cas: I'm hopping in a cab right now._

 

* * *

 

Cas walked into The Roadhouse not twenty minutes later, having bypassed the terrible subway system. The fact he was still getting over the ordeal of dealing with Crowley was tabled for now, but that’s something he couldn’t tell Dean… not yet anyway. _Or ever._ He told himself.

He took the seat next to Dean, and snatched his beer taking a long sip. Dean’s eyes followed the man, and the long line of his neck as he drank the cool beverage. Cas could tell immediately from the mood that words weren't meant to be spoken just yet.

The tiredness and anger drifted out of Dean at the sight. He quickly grabbed Cas and pulled him in for a hug. Dean wasn't much for public displays of affection, but everyone who didn't like it could go fuck themselves for all he cared.

Cas looked over Dean’s shoulder at Benny and an unfamiliar man. Benny nodded, “Let's head back to the hospital. I'll drop you there, then I'm gunna go see my girls.” The Cajun said solemnly.

Victor nodded, “Rudy’s wife should be up from DC by now.”

Benny moved to throw a few bills on the bar, but Ellen waved him off. He gave her a tight smile and left with one more glance at Cas. Dean was still wrapped around the shorter man. “Get him home, would ya.” It was more of a statement than a question from Benny.

“Of course.” Cas said quietly.

 

* * *

 

Cas shuffled Dean into the apartment. Files and papers were everywhere, but they bypassed it all and headed to the bathroom. Neither had said a word since the bar.

Cas carefully stripped Dean. He wanted to ask about the bruises and bandages, but knew Dean would tell him in his own time. Stepping under the hot spray, Cas proceeded to wash Dean, head to toe. It was slow, almost reverent, Cas's attention to detail in regard to Dean’s body.

Dean just watched Cas, the blue eyed man looking at him as well from time to time. Cas rinsed Dean off, then turned off the faucet. He stepped out of the shower to grab towels. He wrapped it around Dean first, then covered himself.

They walked into the bedroom, Cas still leading Dean. Instead of grabbing clothes, he just dried Dean and pushed him under the covers of the unmade bed. Cas soon followed.

Once ensconced, Dean wrapped himself around Cas and closed his eyes. Sleep soon took them both.

 

* * *

 

**Two weeks later...**

Dean was early meeting Cas for lunch. He knew there was at least another half hour before he was done with his seminar. Bobby had given him the afternoon off, since everything had gone to shit with the raid a few weeks ago. Everything had gone quiet. No leads and no more paintings turning up.

Rudy had thankfully made a full recovery, and went back to DC. Victor took up residence in the shared office of Dean and Benny. Regardless of the sudden silence, the federal agent was still working on the case, as were his NYPD counterparts.

Getting a little bored of no progress, he headed up to Columbia and wandered through the Hamilton building. Cas was teaching a class that would let out soon, so he waited.

Since that day a few weeks back, things had gotten even more serious between the two men. Dean eventually told Cas what happened, and Cas all but demanded that Dean stay with him during his recovery. Though it was just cuts and bruises, Dean didn't even try to argue.

Dean heard some chuckling and the word “art” coming from a nearby door that stood ajar. He snuck through and took a seat in the back. He was somewhat surprised to see Dr. Milton at the head of the class.

“Today, I’ve something special for everyone. I know there’s been some news lately about stolen art turning up in New York City. So, as we’ve as we’re a little ahead with our lessons, we’re going to do a fun lecture today. Most famous art thefts and forgeries.” There was a murmur of approval from the class as Dr. Milton started up her powerpoint.

“So, I’m sure you can at least name a few well known characters in this Black Market trade. Bunton, Breitwieser, Cooperman, Beltracchi, Landis, Keating, Hebborn, but probably the most infamous and mysterious, as well as a jack-of-all-trades, was Krushnic.”

A slide of Franz Marc’s _The Tower of Blue Horses_ comes up. “This painting, which I’m sure you all recognise has been missing since 1945. It’s location has been speculated over the past 70 years or so, but it’s never been recovered. This is one of many that disappeared during World War Two. Now, you’re going to ask, what does this have to do with Dmitri Krushnic. Well, first of all, little is really known of him that is more than whispers. He is said to be Russian by birth, and was a soldier in the Red Army or _Krasnaya Armiya_ , if you’ll forgive my poor pronunciation.” There was a chuckle in the crowd. 

Dean sat there in silence, his eyes on the projection of Edvard Munch’s _The Scream_  in front of him. He knows he missed a few words of the lecture, as the past few months inexplicably began to bubble to the surface, but shakes himself out of it to hear Dr. Milton continue.

 “It was returned not long after. Anyway, somewhat coinciding with heists and the sale of what were believed to be authentic paintings, large sums of money would be donated to charity. He’s been seen as a Robin Hood-type figure in this respect. Krushnic’s ability wasn’t limited to heists, but also to forgeries. In fact, his skill even got better with time. This,” the slide changes to Alphonse Mucha’s _Le Pater,_  “is an example of his work. It’s an illustrated edition of The Lord’s Prayer Mucha created in 1899. Krushnic was able to create 10 copies that melded seamlessly with the 510 we know were created. Krushinic wasn’t limited to books, though. He copied paintings, sculpture, metalwork, there was nothing beyond his reach.” Slide after slide were clicked through of Krushnic’s work.

Dean slowly started to sit forward. He recognised a lot of these pieces. Photographs of them littered his office and home, and now one of Cas’s empty rooms in the brownstone. He can’t believe he never made the connection earlier. Everything from the past few months starting with the Blake were all Dmitri Krushnics -- stolen or forged.

“Furthermore,” Anna continues, “many pieces are also still under speculation. Due to his immense ability to copy the masters, we are unable to tell what is real and what is fake.” The slide changes to a Klimt. It’s one Dean had seen before, but not in a file. It was on display. On a wall. In Cas’s bedroom. Dean stiffened. He didn’t hear the words Dr. Milton spoke, all he heard was Cas’s voice.

_“It was a paint by numbers that my grandfather and I did together. He was a great artist, but never really applied himself in that respect. He worked to hard and too much to really develop his own work. I remember seeing this in a museum with him, and we pretty much just got a copy of it, and painted it together. It’s the only thing of his, besides this house that I kept. He was more interested in learning to emulate than work on his own stuff. There are a few original sketches of his, but for the most part, it was just copies. I was kind of the same way, I started getting frustrated when I tried to be original, and my interests changed. I moved on from art after he died. I just couldn’t take the reminder, so I just stuck with history.”_

Dean got up quickly and pretty much ran out of the lecture hall; his heart pounding and his mind racing. He flipped through the facts, dates, and everything he knew about the case files, Krushnic, and Cas. It fits. Cas’s grandfather, Jimmy Novak, the one he revered and “learned everything from” was Dmitri Krushnic.

The world seemed to stop.

Dean knew he was hyperventilating. His boyfriend, the man he loved, had lied to him, is lying to him. Dean didn’t know how long he stood there, but suddenly a hand touched his left shoulder. “Dean, are you okay?”

Cas looked at him with genuine concern. Dean looked up and shook Cas’s hand off him in anger and disgust. “How could you?!” He yelled.

Cas took a step back in confusion. “Dean, what’s--”

Dean cut him off, starring the love of his life (probably) in the eyes and said two words. “Dmitri Krushnic.”

Cas stiffened and Dean knew he was right. “Dean.” Cas said, but didn’t get any further.

“I should arrest you. I should haul you downtown. I should throw you to the feds. You lied to me. You betrayed me. You’re not the man I thought you were.” Tears started to form in Dean’s eyes. “I had enough of this shit growing up with my dad and wanted no part of it. It was wrong and all it got me was a broken home and issues as tall as a fucking skyscraper. I thought you were different. I let the little things that should have triggered warning by because I cared about you. I loved you.”

Cas stood there stoically, but he hiccuped back tears. Dean had only told Cas he loved him once before, but now… now it had been said in the past tense.

“You fucking bastard. What? Was everything just an act to get closer to me? To the case? Everything from The Roadhouse onward. You were so fucking smooth that you stuck in my head after that. That was your plan, wasn’t it? And the bomb that nearly killed me and Benny?! Did you set that off?! And now you're keeping me close to monitor everything, you fucking asshole?! Well, you’re a great fucking actor Cas. Or is that even your real name?” Dean pauses and just stares at Cas for a moment. “You’ve got 24 hours to turn everything over and yourself in. I’m probably stupid for giving you any time at all, as you’ll probably run, but call me a sentimental food. You’re a son of a bitch, you know that?”

“Dean.” Cas reaches out to Dean.

“No. Go fuck yourself.” Dean walks past Cas, nearly barreling him over. The touch was in anger, but it’s at least something, Dean reasoned. He just needed one more hit before the life he could have had was over. He nearly kicked open the door to Hamilton and stomped off without looking back.

Cas stood nearly catatonic. He didn’t know what the Hell just happened, but he knew that it meant that he lost Dean. Cas needed to fix this, he needed to fix this now.


	16. Chapter 16

_I'm gonna need someone to help me_ _  
_ _I'm gonna need somebody's hand_ _  
_ _I'm gonna need someone to hold me down_ _  
_ _I'm gonna need someone to care_ _  
_ _I'm gonna writhe and shake my body_ _  
_ _I'll start pulling out my hair_ _  
_ _I'm going to cover myself with the ashes of you_ _  
_ _And nobody's gonna give a damn_

The music is blasting. Dean downs another shot. He's already had a few beers, and a flask of whiskey he picked from a liquor store near Columbia.

He never went back to work, and shut his phone off after the 4th time Benny tried calling.

Dean was now sat at a bar. He didn't want to go to The Roadhouse as it held too many memories, his apartment held more, so he was sat at some random bar, God knows where in the city right now. He was on his way to being too drunk to care.. He had what was about to be his fifth empty pint before him.

It was getting later and the bar was filling up. He didn't notice any of the girls or guys that had checked him out in the hours he'd been sat there. He didn't respond when a handful tried to talk to him. Dean just drank.

 _Son of a bitch, give me a drink_ _  
_ _One more night escaping me_ _  
_ _Son of a bitch_   
If I can't get clean I'm gonna drink my life away

Dean also would have laughed at the irony of playing a song about alcoholism in a bar, but he didn't care.

A hand smacked the bar in front of him and he looked up. It was Charlie. Dean looks up at her confused.

“You’re not as crafty as you think you are Winchester.” She says, hopping up on the seat next to her.

He doesn't meet her eyes, and finishes off the beer. “How’d you find me.”

“Less than legal means, but when I start getting frantic calls from Benny, who tells me he can’t find you, I start looking. What happened?” Her hand move to her hips.

“Let's just say that I put my trust in the wrong person. Again.” Dean finishes the pint in front of him. He tips it towards the passing bartender, asking for a refill silently.

Charlie looks at him, then sucks her teeth. “You’re done.”

He looks up. “Charlie.”

“Nope.” She says taking the glass, and sets it on the bar. She also grabs Dean’s things and stands up. Dean grumbles and throws money on the bar.

Charlie grabs a cab for them both and shoves Dean inside. His neighbour/pseudo-little sister must be psychic because she doesn’t ask about Cas, and he doesn’t think he could take it if she did.

It's on the way home that the alcohol really hits him. Compounded by the reasons he started drinking in the first place, by the time they step in front of their building in Brooklyn, Dean bends over off to the side and vomits. It's harsh, painful, and tears start falling for another reason.

Once his stomach is empty, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and stands. Charlie opens the front door and takes them upstairs, by passing Dean’s apartment. She opens her front door, and Dean summarily collapses in the couch fully clothed and passes out.

Charlie sighs, and covers him with a throw blanket, removing his shoes as well. She then steps quietly into her bedroom and shuts her door. She pulls her phone out and tires dialling Cas again. The line keeps ringing -- no voicemail, no anything. Her eyes close and she dials Benny.

“Charlie!” He says as a frantic greeting.

“He’s passed out on my couch.” She says quietly, “Drunker than I’ve seen in awhile.”

“What happened?” He was worried, this was not like Dean. Not anymore, at least.

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask. It has something to do with Cas, though. He’s not answering.” A frown covered her face as she spoke.

“Yeah, I’ve been trying him as well.” Benny sighs, “Well, thanks for finding our boy. Let him sleep for now, because I’m going to kick his ass, and I sure ain’t the only one.”

Charlie huffs, “Yeah, I bet.” They said quick goodbyes, and hung up. Charlie peaked her head out of her bedroom and watched Dean sleep. Even passed out drunk, worry etched his face… worry and heartbreak. She needed to find Cas.

 

* * *

 

He knew that it was a stupid idea, but Cas had no choice, he had to fix things. He monumentally screwed up and lost Dean. The one man, the one thing that made his life worth it. Dean gave him hope, purpose, love. And Cas squandered that by not being honest. To be fair, it probably never would have worked out in the end, but Cas can't leave it like this. He has to at least make things right before he leaves.

When he collected himself in Hamilton after Dean’s justified outburst, he made a decision. Fix the situation and disappear. He was going to make it back to Spain after all, it seemed.

That is how Cas now found himself in one of the main storage warehouses that belonged to Crowley. He knew everything was here somewhere. Crowley went quiet after what happened at the club. Cas was absolutely livid when he found out. Having done everything barring putting a hit out on the Scotsman, Cas tore the city up looking for him. As of yet, there was no sign.

One thing he did know was a last ditch stronghold that Crowley used. Jimmy knew about it, but Crowley didn't know that. The waterfront of Long Island City was scattered with derelict warehouses, which is where Cas now stood.

It was some dilapidated building right near the old Domino Sugar Factory, now inhabited by rats, roaches, and the occasional homeless or drug addicts. It was not a place that you really wanted to be. Cas looked around, and walked towards a back entrance concealed by rusted over machine parts scattered about. He knew if there was one last rock to turn over and find Crowley, this would be it.

The door groaned loudly as Cas wrenched it open to find steps that descended into darkness. Cas couldn’t help but chuckle to himself, as he took to the stairs. Orpheus descended into Hades because he couldn’t live with his love, Eurydice. _With her is Heaven, without her all is Hell._ And if this wasn’t a metaphor for life without Dean, he didn’t know what was.

By the time he neared what hopefully the bottom, there was intermittent light from a string of industrial lamps that led down a roughly cut corridor. Castiel tried to imagine which level of Dante’s Hell this could equate to as he walked, but before he could make a final decision between the first and fourth, he found a door.

He sighed knowing how bad of an idea all this was, but it was too late to turn back. “Story of my life.” He muttered to himself with a hint of bitterness.

This door did not squeak when it opened.

 

* * *

 

Dean woke with cotton mouth and a pissed off Charlie looking at him from her perch on the coffee table. She held two glasses of orange juice. Handing one to Dean, she spoke, “Talk.”

Dean groaned and took the juice, downing half of the glass, he took the proffered meds Charlie passed him as well. He swallowed them and finished the juice. “Cas…” Dean let his eyes shut, “he lied to me.”

“How? He seems to worship the ground you walk on, at least from what I can tell, considering you keep each other holed up for loud sex marathons all the time. From what I can tell, he’s dreamy.” Charlie said.

Dean just rolled his eyes, “Yeah, well, he didn’t tell me everything.”

“So you yelled at him, not giving him a chance to explain yourself, left, got raging drunk, and passed out on my couch?” Charlie said, not looking happy.

“He tell you that?” Dean said, a mixture of hurt and disdain.

“No, I can’t get a hold of him. Tried tracking him down just like you. His phone was in his office up at Columbia, along with all his stuff, wallet and so forth. Dean, what happened?” Charlie said, clearly worried.

Before Dean could answer, Dean’s phone rang.

 

* * *

 

The room was virtually covered head to toe in boxes and crates of various sizes. The room was well-lit, and a desk sat off to the side. Behind the desk sat Crowley -- dead.

Cas mourned for the briefest of moments. Despite their disagreements, he was one of the last links Cas had to Jimmy. There was blood dried on his face, the bullet wound to the head was quite definitive. It was not self-inflicted.

He scanned the room, as he stepped closer to the desk. The crates all had various shipping labels, both foreign and domestic plastered over them. His eyes then landed on Crowley’s desk. Various papers, including a translation of _The Brothers Karamozov_ , and a partially decoded cypher.

Crowley was blue, and the blood coagulated, which lead Cas to believe he had been dead for a while. “I’m sorry, Fergus.”

Suddenly, Cas felt a prickling feeling at the back of his neck, but the assailant is too quick. He falls to the ground unconscious.


	17. Chapter 17

“Hello?” Dean asks gruffly, not bothering to look at the caller ID.

“I’m not even going to ask about yesterday because I’m a good friend, but if you ever pull that shit again, brutha…” Benny said sharply.

Dean sighed, “Yeah, I get it. Sorry.”

Benny huffed. “Yeah, well, I found something while you were off trying to put yourself on the liver transplant list in one night.” Of course Charlie told Benny what happened. “That tip you got before the club, well we’ve got more now. It’s a shit tonne of stolen art from the 30s and 40s. Supposed to be shipped down south, but got jumped by a bunch of hoods on the harbour. Disappeared. Anyway, Crowley’s been looking for it. We got feelers out at all his local haunts save one. Some old warehouse in LIC. It was under his mother’s name, ‘at’s why we ain’t never looked at it before. Found it by accident thanks to a little red-headed bird.”

Dean was both shocked and confused as he looked at Charlie. “Wait, how did you find all this out?”

“I shit you not, a letter that was dropped on your desk when I went out for lunch yesterday. No name. Typed. No fingerprints or anything. No one saw it put there and the cameras show nothing.” Benny said.

“And you don’t think that’s fucking suspicious?!” Dean asked incredulously.

“Course I do, brutha. I ain’t born yesterday, but after some clickety-clack, shit all checks out. Look, it ain’t gunna hurt to go check it out. We’ve had nothing for weeks.” Benny said with a hint of exasperation.

“You know it’s probably a trap, right?” Dean said, none to happy.

“Yeah, but good thing you got me as backup!” Benny said with a hint of wry humour. Dean knew he had no choice.

“Fine. Lemme change, and I’ll meet you there.” Dean hung up and looked at Charlie. “I know I’m gonna regret this, nothing new to be honest at this point, but I’ll take your hangover cure now.”

Charlie smiled and went to kitchen.

“This is a bad idea.” Dean said to the ether.

 

* * *

 

Dean pulls up in the Impala to see Benny standing there waiting.

“Took you long enough.” Benny said with a smile.

“Can it, and let’s do this. If I die, I’m coming back to haunt your ass.” Dean said checking his weapon.

“I don’t swing that way, but I’ll remember to keep the salt stocked anyway.” Benny said with a wink.

 

* * *

 

Light was visible, shining through the dirty and busted windows. It was a a fairly decent warehouse. Dean and Benny swept the floors quickly and methodically. There was nothing. “I’m gunna call this in anyway. Get a larger team in, just in case.” Benny said, pulling out his phone.

“Why didn’t you do that in the first place?” Dean asked clearly annoyed.

Benny shrugged. “Wanted to hog the glory.” He walked towards the front, to get a better signal and Dean sighed. He took one look around, before following Benny when he saw it. A door pulled ajar that was nearly covered by detritus materials. Benny was already out of earshot, but Dean kept moving forward. Something made him walk to that door, and went through without backup.

 

* * *

 

Cas woke to find himself handcuffed to a nearby beam, his hands behind him. His head hurt, but he wasn’t bleeding. He was still in the same room, but Crowley’s corpse is now gone. Suddenly, he hears  soft footsteps coming closer. He knows that he needs to get out of there quickly. Cas starts pulling at the metal restraints to no avail. He could break his thumbs, but there no time. Before he can do anything, he sees someone come through the door.

It was Dean.

Dean stood there, gun trained on Cas. The blue-eyed man just stared back at his former lover, his hands tied. Dean’s eyes go wide for a second before he schools himself. The silence stretched between the two. The moment is filled with tension. 

“You didn’t let me speak yesterday. Before you taken me in, I want to, Dean. Please.” His eyes were earnest, and Dean was a fool.

Dean swallows the lump forming in his throat. He can’t give in to emotions right now. “So, Dmitri Krushnic was your grandfather.” Dean states, not even registering that Cas is cuffed, his anger too palpable. His face had gone cold, as did his voice. There was no love or warmth left in the man.

Cas sighed and bowed his head, “In another life, yes. But to me, despite what I learned, he was James Novak. Jimmy. He was a good man who looked out for his family. I didn’t have parents. They disappeared or died, he never really told me and I never really asked. He was all I had, and all I needed.”

“He wasn’t a saint.” Dean sucked his teeth silently.

“I never said he was. He was a good man, though. Just like you. He did what needed to be done to protect his family. To protect me.” Cas closed his eyes.

“Cas…” His head cocks to one side, while his voice comes out halfway between pleading and disappointed. They are literally having a domestic right now, and neither seem to care as the realisation of their setting fades away and it's just the two of them.

“Look, I know I lied and I have no right, but I’m telling you the truth, Dean. I didn’t do it. I am not involved. I never actively participated in anything he did, not really. I painted, yes, but I always signed my own name. I never stole. I never hurt anyone. I learned all of his secrets, yes, but that was it. It's hard to understand. It's hard to explain. Just let me go. Let me out and I can -”

Dean was fuming in the inside, but it started seeping through his calm exterior. “You got to look at me, man. You got to level with me and tell me what's going on. Look me in the eye and tell me you're not working with Crowley.” Castiel looks at Dean, but then looks away. “You son of a bitch.”

“Let me explain.” Cas pleads.

“You're in it with him? You and Crowley have been going after Purgatory together? You have, huh? This whole time.” Dean is now pissed and letting it show. He can’t believe Cas would betray him like this. Just like his dad, but this is worse. Much worse considering that Dean loves Cas. No, he can’t, not anymore.

“I did it to protect you. I did it to protect all of you. Please, you have to trust me.” Cas starts to tear up.

“Trust you?! How in the hell am I supposed to trust you now?” Dean can’t cry, he’s too angry.

“I'm still me. I'm still… still the one who loves you.” 

“Bullshit.” Dean stops mid-thought. “Wait. Did you do all of this? Sleep with me?...On purpose?” 

Castiel can feel the crack forming in his heart. “How could you think that?”

“Well, I'm thinking a lot of things right now, Cas.” He stands there, his arms would be crossed defensively across his chest if he had let the gun drop from where it held on Cas.

“Listen. He will kill us all. I had no choice.” Cas manages to choke out between tears that are now free flowing.

“No, you had a choice. You just made the wrong one.” Dean feels dead inside. He was so stupid.

“You don't understand. It's complicated.” Cas says in a quiet voice

“No, actually, it's not, and you know that. Why else would you keep this whole thing a secret, huh, unless you knew that it was wrong? When crap like this comes around, you tell me and we deal with it... Like I’ve always had to. What we don't do is we don't go out and make another deal with the Devil!” Dean is screaming now, his anger boiling over.

Cas has no more tears. His voice is broken. “It sounds so simple when you say it like that. Where were you when I needed to hear it?”

Dean takes a breath. “I was there. Where were you?” He pauses. “You should've come to me for help, Cas.”

“Maybe.” His eyes are downcast. “It's too late now. I can't turn back now. I can't.”

Dean takes a step forward. “It's not too late. Damn it, Cas! We can fix this!”

“Dean, it's not broken!” A sound comes from the other side of the room. Cas’s eyes go wide. Dean can’t be here. If he’s caught, he’ll surely die. “Dean, you have to go. Run. You have to run now! Run!” Cas pleads with the love of his life, the gun long since dropped to his side. Dean takes a look at Cas, finally realising he’s cuffed and move. “GO!” Cas hisses, his eyes full of pain. Dean starts for the door, taking one last look over his shoulder, then leaves, tears falling.

Cas tips his head back, his own tears running down his face. The same prickling he felt before returns as a voice to his left speaks.

“Hello, Castiel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, that dialogue should be familiar. Points to whomever remembers!
> 
> Also, last night's episode, "Don't Call Me Shurley", was epic.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm telling you right now, I went back and forth so many times with this, and I hope no one kills me for it. Please, don't hate me. This chapter is short, but we're almost near the end.
> 
> Also, apologies for the long wait. I've been working on my DCBB, and I'm in the middle of moving.
> 
> UPDATE: So I added a bit more to this chapter that should have been there in the first place. I know, I suck. Sorry. I'll plan better next time. Life got in the way a lot during this fic.

_Summertime and the livin' is easy_

_Fish are jumpin' and the cotton is high_

_Yo' daddy's rich and yo' mama's good lookin'_

_So hush little baby, don't you cry_

_One of these mornin's you gonna rise up singin'_

_You gonna spread your little wings and you'll take to the sky_

_But 'till that mornin' there ain't nothin' gonna harm you_

_With yo mama and daddy standin' bye_

 

The music is slightly tinny as it comes from the old radio sat on the even older patio table. The sun is high, and sat under the umbrella in shade is James Novak. Taking a sip from the lemonade, he calls to the boy playing in the pool in front of him, “Castiel! Let’s see those diving skills you told me about!”

The dark hair boy surfaces, and stares at his grandfather. “Okay, grandpa!” The eight year old pulls himself out of the pool, still somewhat scrawny for his age. His skin is tanned and his eyes are bright, though.

The sun beats down on them both in the late summer heat of southern Spain. The villa they called home for half the year was set back in the countryside near Jerez. They sat outside most of the summer, went for bicycle rides, played games together, painted, read -- everything that made Castiel smile, Jimmy did for the boy.

The old man smiled as Cas dove repeatedly into the clear waters. He could tell someone was approaching, but knew who it was, so feigned ignorance. “Quite the lad he’s growing into.” A scratchy voice said, as he sat down across the table.

“Yes, he’s a good boy, and he’ll be a good man.” Jimmy then turned to his unannounced guest. “To what do I owe the pleasure, Fergus?”

Crowley slightly bristled at the use of his first name, “I wanted to talk to you about storage and clearance.”

Jimmy sighed, “No you don’t. You’re like a dog with a bones who won’t let go. I told you before that I do not know where it is, Fergus.”

“And we both know you’re lying.” The men sat with one another in silence for awhile before their conversation continued.

A boy, even smaller than Castiel, walked over to the side of the pool, and watched as Castiel swam. The drenched boy eventually noticed and swam over. “Hello. I’m Castiel. Who are you?”

“Gavin. Gavin McLeod.”

“Castiel!” Jimmy called, and the dark haired boy immediately swam over towards his grandfather. Gavin stared after him.

 

* * *

 

Cas closed his eyes at the voice. It was familiar, but not overly so, as it has changed in the intervening years. There was enough of a resemblance to his father that he could make an educated guess. Cas should have known, but how could he? Taking a big sigh, he opened them to find a man staring at him. “Why?” He asked, sounding more tired than anything.

“I grew up thinkin’, no knowin’ I was nothing. Less than nothing. Not as good as Castiel Novak. Dad used to sing your praises. And now, I don’t have to hear him say those things anymore, though, I still need you. Temporarily.” He said with a glint in his eyes.

Castiel looked at the man and everything clicked. There was a family resemblance, though passing. He was now sure “You didn’t have to kill him.”

“He worked me harder than a horse, and I wasn’t good enough. So, with a little help, I turned the tables. And now, I’ll have everything he never had.” There was a smile on the man’s lips as he spoke, but no hint of shock at the recognition from Castiel.

“Crowley--” Cas stated to say.

“Fergus McLeod. That was his name. He fancied himself something else when he changed his name. He was a shite father then, and remained one until the day he died, which was today.” Gavin aid heatedly.

“So you faked your kidnapping?” Cas asked, though he knew the answer.

“Yes. I knew that he cared about family despite how he treated me. He was greedy, though, so I knew that it had to hit close to home. You were just a bonus.

“Why me? Cas’s brow furrowed.

“You don’t remember, but I do. We’d visit you in the summer. You were too busy with your grandfather to notice. It doesn’t matter. It was a lifetime ago.”

“Regardless of what you think, I do remember. Have to admit, though, I thought it’d be someone else at the end; guess those were all red herrings. Not a child with a petty jealousy streak. You weren’t loved enough, and you take it out on me.” Cas said evenly.

“Ha, that's what you think? You're only useful to finish up finding Purgatory. After that, you'll be joining the old man.” Gavin spat out.

“I thought Crowley would have finished decoding the page after I gave him the cypher.”

“Not so much, there was more to it, apparently.” Gavin walks over to the desk and pulls out the notebook. “I'd untie you, but I don't think you'd sit nicely, so we're going to have to improvise.”

 

* * *

 

Dean was booking it down the hallway from whence he came. He was hurt and confused, and didn’t know what the fuck was going on. Csa told him to leave, but he’s not so sure that was a good idea. It was too late now, as he reached the stairs.

“Benny?” Dean called, not caring if his voice carried.

Dean wanders through another corridor and nearly runs right into his partner.

“Whoa there, brutha. The place is clear, nothing here.” Benny said casually.

“Not exactly. There's a tunnel and a storage space downstairs. Crowley’s dead.” Dean said, catching his breath.

“What?!” Benny pulls his gun from his holster.

“Yeah, there's loads of stuff downstairs too.

 

* * *

 

We should call for backup.” Dean knows he should mention Cas, after everything, and especially since he's in trouble. “There's also a… hostage downstairs. I couldn't get to him before the kidnapper got back.”

Benny pulls out his radio, it's a habit he kept up even though I wasn't required for detectives. He calls for backup, as Dean checks his own weapon.

 

* * *

 

 

“That’s fantastic, Castiel.” Jimmy walked over to the boy’s workstation and easel, Crowley fast on his heels.

“Yes, quite impressive. Too bad most don’t have that exceptional talent.” Crowley said, not even glancing at Gavin.

The adults sat in nearby chairs, as Cas continued to paint a replica of Van Gogh’s Water Lilies. Castiel picked up the Walkman at his side, and put it back on, listening to music as he continued to paint. He didn’t hear what Crowley and Jimmy argued about, he didn’t notice the small boy from earlier trying to engage him. Castiel was absorbed in the image in front of him, and nothing could pull him out.

Gavin gave up and sat in the far corner of the room, where he was pretty much ignore, and stewed.

 

* * *

 

Cas looks at Gavin. It's probably been twenty minutes since he saw Dean. He can only stall so long, but Gavin doesn't know that.

“How did you even know I was going to come here?” Cas asks.

“That was just fortuitous. I was actually going to pay you a visit, under pretences, of course. But you just so happened to stumble in here. Thank you for that.”

“I think that’s probably the first and last time, you’ll ever thank me for anything.” Cas said flatly.

“Oh, I’ll thank you when you finish the decoding, then I’ll kill you, so first of two, then.” Gavin said with a slightly sadistic smile.

_Where the fuck was Dean?!_

 

* * *

 

“This is probably up there with one of the stupidest ideas of yours I’ve ever agreed to go through with. Right up there with the taco street cart and the 8th shot last St. Pattie’s Day.” Benny said grudgingly as they walked towards the formerly hidden door.

“That shot ended up with you meeting Andi.” Dean said walking forward.

“True, but I could have done without puking all over her 5 minutes after we met.” Benny responded.

“She still married you, so I call that a win.” They reached the bottom of the stairs.

“Yeah, but your brother nearly ended up at the hospital with alcohol poisoning.” Benny whispered.

“Well he should know better than to challenge a Harvelle to a drinking contest.” Dean said skimming the walls.

“Amen, brutha.” Benny breathed, as they approached the door.

Dean's hand reached out and everything seemed to happen at once.

 

* * *

 

 

The heat, that’s the first thing Dean felt. His eyes opened and saw the twisted metal and flames in front of him. Benny was unconscious nearby. The door had been rigged.  _ Fuck _ .

He pulled himself up slowly, testing out his joints.  _ Nothing broken, thank fuck. _

He made his way over to Benny, who groaned. “And that’s why you have backup.” The Cajun said, his eyes fluttering open.

Dean smiled. “Big baby.” He helped his partner up, and they went over to what remained of the door. The flames had died down, as the explosive wasn’t very large to begin with; enough to knock them out, but not enough to hurt the structural integrity of the hallway.

Dean climbed through just to have a gun shoved in his face.

 

* * *

 

Cas was in shock as the door blew outwards to the hall. Gavin barely flinched. “Did you really think I didnae know he was here? You’re not as smart as I thought you were, Castiel. I heard you talking. So, now, I’ll have a bit a leverage, or you can just keep stalling.”

He tied a gag over Cas’s mouth, and walked towards the door. Cas’s eyes went wide when Dean stepped through, and he screamed when the gun was aimed at his… boyfriend's? Ex-boyfriend’s? … head. He heard the hammer cock over the dying embers.

“Well, hello there.” Gavin said with an unsettling smile.

 

* * *

 

Dean sees Cas first, then registers Gavin. He turns to look at the man, “Who the fuck are you?”

“The one who’s got your boyfriend all trussed up. Been needing his help, and he doesn’t feel like cooperating. Now, I think that’ll change.” He grabs Dean’s arm and pulls him forward towards Cas, gun still aimed at the police officer’s head. “Now, Castiel, you’re going to finish, and I’m going to take your lover boy with me as insurance, and leave you here tied up, just in case you send me on a wild goose chase. Or… I could take him apart piece by piece to make sure you’ll comly. Me da did teach me a few things.”

Dean sees movement out of the corner of his eye, and does his best not to smile. “In this moment, there are a few very important details that seem to be forgotten. Firstly, the ‘bad guy monologue’ is never a good idea, then again neither is threatening an officer, or his boyfriend.” Dean looks at Cas, who is wide-eyed. Dean just winks. “Secondly, do you really think I can’t disarm you if I really wanted to? Dude, I’m a cop. And thirdly, you should really remember that police officers tend to have partners.” Confusion washes over Gavin’s face momentarily until he feels the muzzle settle millimeters from his head.

“Hey there.” Benny says.

Anger flashes through Gavin’s face. “NO!” He shifts the gun from Dean to Cas and fires before anyone can react to the sudden movement. 

Dean screams, “CAS!!!” He wrenches his arm away, which pushes Gavin into Benny. Still a bit wobbly from the explosion, Benny loses his footing, and Gavin runs. Dean doesn’t notice. Dean doesn’t care. Dean doesn’t hear Benny run after Gavin. He rushes towards Cas, who has gone slack in the restraints.

Dean sees the blood rush from the stomach wound. “Cas! CAS!” His voice breaks as he touches Cas’s face, his hands trailing down to apply some sort of pressure. “No. No. No. No. No. NO!” Tears are flowing freely at this point.

Cas’s eyes flutter, and look at Dean. He’s still gagged and tied up. Dean wants to undo him, but doesn’t want to risk losing what he’s doing for the bullet wound. He’s a mess. Cas is a mess. Dean is just trying to stay coherent at this point.

Cas wants to say so many things at this point, but can’t. Everything is fading and hurts. Looking at Dean hurts, not looking at him hurts more. He just wishes he could apologise, say how much he loves him, say… something. He makes a noise that kind of sounds like “Dean” before things go black.

The last thing he hears is Dean screaming his name.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I got stuck and sidetracked a lot with this fic, sorry, but we've reached the end. Endings are hard. Writing is hard. No wonder Chuck fucked off and did other shit.

The beeping was annoying. It was at a steady interval, but it was like an alarm clock that wouldn't shut up. It took Cas a minute to realise that it was in line with his heartbeat. He also smelled antiseptic, which meant one thing - he wasn't dead, he was in the hospital. Castiel feels heavy. His mind feels muddy, and he hears this really annoying noise. It’s a repetitive beeping. His mouth feels dry and he’s probably got the worst case of morning breath ever.

His eyes gradually opened. It was night, and there weren't lights on in the room. From what he could tell, he also felt like he wasn't alone.

“Hello?” He called out, his voice rough. “Someone there?” There was someone breathing steadily, probably asleep, maybe his roommate, as there was a curtain.

“Hello?” Cas called a little louder. There was a grunt and then more noise from the other side of the curtain. Suddenly, it was pulled back to reveal a pretty shabby individual.

“Cas!” It was Dean. He moved to the bedside, and flicked on a light. Dean looked tired and worn. He was unshaven, and in a pair of sweats and a Billy Squier t-shirt. He reached for the call button, to get a nurse in the room.

“Dean? What are you--” Cas was cut off by Dean movement. The taller man leaned down and tucked his head in the crook of Cas’s neck. Cas could feel wetness against his skin. Dean was crying. “Dean?” When last they spoke, Cas thought that this was over, that his chances were ruined by his own stupidity. A muffled reply came from Dean. “What was that?” Cas asked, his hand hesitantly resting on Dean.

“I thought you were dead. That I didn't get to you fast enough. They told me that they weren't sure if you'd wake up.” Dean said quietly. “I know… I know what I said, what we both said, but I've been waiting for you to wake up because I couldn't, I didn't…” Dean hugged Cas a little tighter.

“Dean, what are you--”

“Well hello there, Sleeping Beauty. I guess Prince Phillip here finally coaxed you awake, huh?” The nurse said as she walked into the room. Dean didn't notice or care, as he hadn't moved.

Cas looked at Dean then the nurse, “Can someone please tell me what's going on?”

Dean finally pulled away and looked at the bedridden man, “You were shot, Cas.”

The nurse stepped closer, and checked the monitors. “Yep, a doozy, in fact. Surgeons had a bang up time putting you back together, plus all those other pesky injuries..” She nodded toward his slinged shoulder, and cast on the opposite hand. Dean glared at her for the pun, “And your sweetie here gave us a load of trouble--”

“Pam.” Dean said flatly.

“That's Nurse Barnes, until you apologize. Anyway, he's barely left you be since you got out of surgery and were allowed visitors. Though, hanging around and sleeping in a hospital for the past few weeks when you aren't paid to be here--”

“Weeks?!”

“Yup, Happy New Year, by the way. Well, I'll let you two chat, while I go get the doc and let him know you've woken and decided to rejoin the land of the living.”

“Dean, what happened?” Cas asked.

Dean pulled over a chair. “Gavin shot you. You were dying. I just stood there.” His voice went small. “Before I knew it, paramedics were rushing over. Benny called them, he caught up with that asshole, who ended up running into a fucking stolen Henry Moore sculpture. Knocked himself out. Not the brightest tool in the box. Anyway, Benny called a medivac, got there in no time. You were airlifted here to Presbyterian and taken right away. They stabilized you enough enroute, thank God.” He swallowed, still emotional. “Anyway, there were some complications…”

“Quite a few complications, Mr. Novak.” They both turned, and saw a blonde woman at the door. “I’m Dr. Kessler.” She said to Cas, giving him a hopeful smile. “It’s good to see you awake properly. You’ve kept this one worried sick, ain’t that right Dean?”

Dean just rolled his eyes, thankfully no one commented on the blushing that went along with it.

“Anyway, with the bruises you incurred before the gun shot, which clipped your liver, thankfully missed your stomach and spleen, yet some how lodged itself mesenteric artery, I will never know. Your abdomen was a mess, to be frankly honest. Surgery took quite a while, since we couldn’t find the bullet. The wound was left open to heal, and we thought it best to keep you under for a while, considering the trauma. You’ve been in and out of consciousness since we removed the intubation tube. This is first time you’re coherent, though. We closed the wound a few days ago properly, and you’re out of the woods. You were in the ICU for a while, and it was touch and go, briefly. And I have to say, on behalf of the entire hospital staff, thank you for waking up, because Lord knows what this one would’ve done.” She nodded towards Dean.

“Hey!” Dean said, kinda pissed, scared, and happy, all at once.

Dr. Kessler smiled. “Anyway, you’ve still got some recovery, then some PT, but you’ll be fine to go home soon enough. I’m going to get some blood drawn, and then do a few tests, Mr. Novak.” The nurse from before, Pamela, came back in the room.

Dean moved out of their way, and let them work, never taking his eyes off Cas.

 

* * *

 

After the medical staff left, Cas was alone again with Dean. “Dean, what’s going to…” Cas said quietly.

“You were kidnapped for your expertise. Gavin killed his father. He’s going for the insanity plea, though that ain’t going to stick. He keeps telling everyone that you’re some kinda forger and thief, and related to someone named ‘Dmitri Krushnic’. He was some fucked up guy who came out of literally nowhere and took it out on you. Aside from a passing resemblance to a very blurry photograph that the Feds think was Dmitri, there’s no proof. No proof of any connection of you to anything. You were caught in some sort of misplaced family feud or something. End of story.” Dean said with finality.

“Dean.” Cas closed his eyes, wanting to argue.

“No, Cas. That’s the story, and Benny, you, and I are sticking to it. No arguing.” Cas opened his eyes and looked at Dean. “‘Sides, I’m not one for conjugal visits, to be honest. You never know how clean those rooms actually are.” Dean said with a faint smirk. Cas looked at him with an unspoken question. Dean simply bent over and kissed Cas softly on the lips, and that was it. The kiss wasn’t an all healing band aid, but it was a start.

 

* * *

 

It was late September and still warm. Autumn hadn’t fully formed yet, so there was no need for a jacket or hoodie. He made his way through Morningside Park with the illuminated street lights as his guide. The trains were messed up, and he had to take the 1 Train instead of the closer old IND lines, because the MTA sucks.

A bag was slung over his shoulder as he approached the brownstone from the 7th Avenue direction. He pulled out his keys, the metal fob glinting off the nearby streetlights. The door opened easily, it being fixed earlier this year. He turned around, and locked the door behind him, before stepping any further into the brownstone.

Cas then flicked the hallway light on and picked up his mail. He then tripped over a pair of boots. “Goddamit!”

Music came from the direction of the kitchen, and so did a green-eyed man laughing. “You should watch where you’re going.” Dean said with a smile.

Cas looked up at his boyfriend. The house no longer cold, dark, and empty. Dean had stayed at the brownstone more often than not after the hospital to help Cas recover and never left. The question of when he would leave never came up. They didn’t talk when Dean moved his furniture in, or put his apartment in Brooklyn up for sale, Cas just helped him pack. No words needed to be said. Them being together was a given.

“Everyone’ll be here in a bit. You should shower.” Dean said, kissing Cas hello.

“Yes, was everything okay at the prison?” Cas asked, toeing off his shoes.

“Yeah, Dad was fine. Mom stuck him in the spare bedroom for now, they have to learn how to live together and trust each other again.” Dean said, wrapping his arms around Cas.

“Winchesters are stubborn, I’m sure that they’ll make it work.” Cas brought a hand to Dean’s face, and smiled.

“Yeah, we don’t seem to know when to let go of things. Especially things we care about and love. Not always a good thing.” Dean smiled in return.

“Not always a bad thing either.” Cas leaned into kiss Dean, and they both knew exactly what he meant.


	20. Epilogue / Time Stamp

 

Dean had returned Jimmy's journal to Castiel once he was released from the hospital. Both of them knew the significance of this act. Cas had sat with it most every night for the next three weeks, just staring. They were still in a rough patch in regard to trust, but Cas wanted to make the big gesture. 

He buzzed Dean's apartment, and was let up. Dean answered the door in boxer briefs and a t-shirt. "Not for nothing, Cas, but it's 4am. On a Friday. I was going to come up and see you when I got out of work. So whatever this was, couldn't wait?" He said tiredly, letting his boyfriend through the door. Cas locked the door behind himself.

"No." Cas said quietly.

Dean scratched the back of his neck and yawned. "Okay, then. What's up?" He walked to the kitchen and flicked the overhead light on, briefly flinching.

"I... I finished decoding Jimmy's journal. I know where Purgatory is." Cas said, having pulled the journal and a notebook from his satchel.

Dean stared at Cas quietly and stock still, as if to not spook him. "Okay."

Cas walked closer, and set both books on the counter. He then slid them over to Dean, and stared at the green eyes. They looked at one another for a moment, a thousand things said in that silent instant. Dean then nodded, and pulled the books closer. He picked them up, and dropped them in his work bag. The biggest art recovery mystery solved in probably forever sitting in a ratty backpack Dean's had since undergraduate. He then looked up at Cas with a small smile.

"I got 3 hours before I have to get up for work, so I either want sex or sleep, your choice." Dean said, and went back to the bedroom.

Cas flicked off the kitchen lights and followed his boyfriend.

 

* * *

 

Two weeks later the headline on the New York Times read: "Largest Cache of Stolen Art Recovered by NYPD"

A month later, Dean "officially" moved in with Cas.

**Author's Note:**

> I live for kudos and comments!  
> Check out my tumblr too: freckles-n-feathers.tumblr.com
> 
> And in case you'd like a soundtrack, this is what I was/am listening to while I write this specific fic.  
> https://play.spotify.com/user/ccstarburst/playlist/0cI70XAAC4JPbIOnNnGUyX
> 
> You can also buy me a coffee if you enjoyed this, but don't feel obliged. :)  
> http://ko-fi.com/A0554W9


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